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CAMPAIGN   DIARY  OF  A 
FRENCH  OFFICER 


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CAMPAIGN  DIARY  OF  A 
FRENCH  OFFICER 


BY 

SOUS-LIEUTENANT  RENE  NICOLAS 
OF  THE    FRENCH    INFANTRY 


Translated 
By  Katharine  Babbitt 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

The  Riverside  Press  Cambridge 

1917 


N5 


COPYRIGHT,    I917,   BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  March  iqiy 


^ux  grandes  dmes  d'Amerique  qui  ont  si 
Hen  su  comprendre  et  aimer  la  France, 


M12M03 


PREFACE  o/«  FRIEND 

A  Campaign  Diary,  do  you  say,  Reader?  If 
the  original  were  before  you,  you  would  not 
find  it,  like  these  printed  pages,  clean  and 
whole.  On  it  are  the  marks  of  war  —  blood- 
stains and  smears  of  mud,  and,  from  cover  to 
cover,  a  hole  made  by  a  tiny  piece  of  steel. 
These  you  may  not  see,  but  for  the  rest  no 
change  has  been  made.  The  author  is  present- 
ing to  you  his  notes  just  as  he  set  them  down 
at  the  front.  The  facts  are  true,  though  the 
form  is  brief,  almost  impersonal,  and  entirely 
without  the  literary  flourishes  that  it  would 
have  been  so  easy  to  add  apres  coup. 

He  is  very  young,  this  French  ofiicer. 
When  the  war  broke  out  he  was  still  at  the 
university,  a  member  of  that  inner  circle  of 
the  Ecole  Normale  Superieure,  where  he  was 
completing  his  studies  in  literature.  After 
the  mobilization,  he  qualified  rapidly  for  an 
officer's  commission  and  started  for  the  front. 
His  first  months  there  were  spent  in  the  mud 
and  desolation  of  that  barren  plain  known 
as  la  Champagne  Pouilleuse.  They  were 
vii 


PREFACE 

months  made  difficult  by  frequent  skir- 
mishes with  the  Boches,  and  by  a  constant 
struggle  with  that  other  and  more  relentless 
enemy  —  the  mud  of  Champagne.  In  April, 
191 5,  his  regiment  left  the  trenches,  and 
crossed  on  foot,  by  daily  stages,  the  great  For- 
est of  Argonne,  all  fragrant  with  the  spring. 
We  meet  him  again  early  in  May  before  Arras, 
on  the  eve  of  the  Artois  offensive.  Only  the 
beginning  of  this  offensive  is  described  in 
the  Diary.  On  May  9th,  he  fell,  seriously 
wounded,  between  the  French  and  German 
lines,  ten  yards  from  the  enemy's  trench. 
He  himself  will  describe  to  you  that  terrible 
day  and  his  agonizing  return  to  the  French 
positions. 

And  that  is  all  —  three  months  of  the  war.  It 
is  not  much,  but  it  is  enough  to  quicken  for  all 
time  the  pulse  of  the  man  who  has  lived  it.  If, 
among  these  pages,  there  are  some  that  for  a 
moment  make  you  feel  the  horror  and  the 
thrill  of  war,  then  say  to  yourself.  Reader,  it 
is  not  one  man  alone  who  has  thought  these 
thoughts  and  endured  these  sufferings.  It  is 
the  history  of  the  youth  of  a  whole  nation. 

L.  Plantefol 

&cole  Normale  Superieure 
Paris,  191 7 


FOREWORD 

During  the  long  hours  of  idleness  spent  in  the 
trenches  or  behind  the  front,  almost  all  the 
soldiers  write  in  their  carnets  de  route.  And  the 
slender  notebook  which  they  keep  constantly 
by  them  is  their  greatest  friend.  It  is  the  con- 
fidant of  their  troubles  and  their  joys,  of  their 
heroism  and  their  discouragement,  which  they 
describe  naively  —  the  reflection  of  their  in- 
nermost thoughts.  As  for  myself,  I  tried  to 
jot  down  my  experiences  as  objectively  as 
possible,  bringing  together  the  impressions 
and  details  that  counted  most  to  me.  In  so 
far  as  I  have  succeeded  in  depicting  only  my- 
self, may  it  be  remembered  that  my  ego,  if  it 
is  not  the  centre  of  the  world,  is  necessarily 
the  centre  of  this  journal,  written  without  any 
thought  of  publication. 

When  I  visited  America  recently  I  came  to 
realize  the  widespread  interest  in  the  European 
War  shown  by  the  citizens  of  the  New  World. 
To  relieve  the  misfortunes  that  follow  in  the 
trail  of  war,  they  have  brought  to  bear  the 
great  strength  of  their  sympathy  and  of  their 
ix 


FOREWORD 

material  resources.  But,  not  content  with  this, 
they  give  proof  of  a  keen  desire  to  know  '^  just 
how  they  do  things  over  there."  And  the  many 
questions  I  have  been  asked,  and  the  earnest 
attention  accorded  to  my  accounts  of  the  war, 
are  my  excuse  for  publishing  this  journal. 

I  was  not  a  soldier  at  the  moment  the  war 
broke  out;  I  was  called  to  the  colors  in  the  first 
days  of  August,  1914,  and  went  through  the 
training  for  the  infantry.  Then  my  university 
degrees,  together  with  an  examination,  made 
it  possible  for  me  to  join  a  training-class  for 
officers.  At  the  end  of  this  course,  I  was  given 
the  rank  of  Second  Lieutenant  on  probation 
and  started  for  the  front. 

Except  for  a  few  trifling  omissions,  this  book 
reproduces  exactly  the  notes  I  took  at  the 
front,  though  the  last  two  chapters  were  writ- 
ten rather  a  long  time  after  the  events  they 
describe  —  the  reader  will  understand  why. 
Nor  is  the  form  finished:  for  how  shall  one 
point  phrases  to  the  tune  of  grapeshot?  But 
the  story  is  a  true  one,  lived  and  lived  in- 
tensely. In  this  fact  lies  the  little  merit  the 
work  may  possess. 

Rene  Nicolas 


CONTENTS 


I.  ARRIVAL  IN  THE  ARMY  ZONE  —  IMPRESSIONS 

BEHIND  THE  FRONT I 

II.   THE  MARCH  TO  THE  TRENCHES I3 

III.  DESCRIPTION  OE  THE  TRENCH  —  LIFE  IN  THE 

FIRST     LINE  —  BOMBARDMENT,      GERMAN 
ATTACK 22 

IV.  RECUPERATING  —  LIFE  IN  CANTONMENT  AND 

IN  CAMP 41 

V.  MUD  —  CORPSES  —  TAKING  A  GERMAN 
TRENCH  —  IN  THE  SECOND  LINE  —  RE- 
TURN TO  THE  FIRST  LINE  —  PARADE 
MARCH  BEFORE  THE  FLAG 50 

VI.  ENCAMPMENT  —  IN  THE  FOURTH  LINE  — 
FATIGUE  DUTY  —  VISIT  TO  THE  ARTIL- 
LERY        72 

VII.  IN  THE  FRONT  LINES  —  THE  TRENCH  CAN- 
NON—  GAS  BOMBS  —  CAPTURE  OF  A 
BOCHE  TRENCH  —  GRENADES  —  HILL  181 
—  IN  THE  SECOND  LINE  —  OUR  LAST  DAYS 
IN  CHAMPAGNE 89 

Vm.  A  MONTH  AWAY  FROM  THE  TRENCHES ....    I06 

xi 


CONTENTS 

IX.   BEFORE    THE    GRAND    OFFENSIVE     (aRTOIS, 

MAY   1-8,  1915) 119 

X.   THE  ATTACK ! I39 

XI.   EVACUATION  —  THE  SANITARY  TRAIN  —  THE 

HOSPITAL 155 


CAMPAIGN  DIARY  OF  A 
FRENCH  OFFICER 


CAMPAIGN  DIARY 
OF  A  FRENCH   OFFICER 

February-May,  191^ 

CHAPTER   I 

ARRIVAL  IN  THE  ARMY   ZONE  —  IMPRESSIONS 
BEHIND   THE  FRONT 

February  12.  On  the  train,  which  at  last  is 
bearing  us  away  to  the  war.  My  companions 
are  asleep,  wearied  by  a  day  and  night  of  this 
endless  journey.  But  I  cannot  sleep  for  joy. 
One  thought  possesses  me.  I  am  on  my  way  to 
fight!  If  I  had  so  wished  I  could  have  re- 
mained with  the  General  Staff  as  interpreter, 
but  what  I  crave  is  action  —  the  intense,  mad 
action  of  battle.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  first 
days  of  the  war  has  not  left  me,  but  grew 
greater  during  the  long  months  I  had  to  spend 
in  training-camps,  where  I  learned  first  to 
be  a  soldier,  then  an  officer.  As  soon  as  I  re- 
ceived my  appointment  to  the  grade  of  sec- 
ond lieutenant  on  probation,  I  asked  for  and 


DIARY' OF. eA  FRENCH  OFFICER 

obt^ijipd 'permission  to  start  for  the  front.  Am 
I  cherishing  illusions?  Is  it  real,  this  glory  of 
war  that  makes  my  head  swim? 

But  I  am  happy.  The  sadness  of  saying 
good-bye  to  my  mother  I  have  left  far  behind. 
The  weight  already  began  to  lift  when  we 
made  our  triumphal  departure  from  that  lit- 
tle snow-covered  town  through  which  we 
marched,  with  the  band  at  our  head  and  the 
Marseillaise  on  our  lips  and  in  our  hearts, 
amid  the  cheers  of  the  people. 

Just  now  the  train  is  going  through  a  beau- 
tiful bit  of  country.  Never  has  the  valley  of 
the  Saone,  that  I  know  so  well,  seemed  so 
fair  to  look  upon.  Truly,  La  doulce  France  is 
a  mistress  we  may  proudly  live  and  die  for. 
Die?  No.  I  have  a  conviction  that  I  shall  not 
be  killed  in  the  war;  I  feel  sure  I  shall  be  able 
to  do  my  duty  to  the  end,  and  once  my  task 
is  finished,  return  to  my  mother  and  my  own 
life. 

February  13.  We  have  just  got  out  of  the 
train.  I  am  writing  in  the  friendly  warmth  of 
a  room  some  peasants  have  put  at  my  disposal. 

This  morning,  in  the  fog  and  chill  of  early 


ARRIVAL  IN  THE  ARMY  ZONE 

February  dawn,  our  train  stopped  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  vast  plain,  grizzly  and  wet,  whose  mo- 
notony was  unbroken  except  for  a  few  clumps 
of  trees.  The  bugler  gave  us  the  signal  to  de- 
train by  playing  our  regimental  march.  In- 
stantly the  men  streamed  out,  still  heavy  with 
sleep,  and  benumbed  by  these  two  days  of 
travelling.  I  hurried  to  the  cars  of  my  section, 
lined  up  my  men  and  stacked  arms  while 
waiting  for  orders.  Fatigues  were  detailed  at 
once  to  get  rations  and  unload  the  cars. 

But  where  were  we?  No  one  but  the  com- 
mander knew  our  itinerary  in  advance,  for 
of  course  it  has  to  be  kept  secret.  We  had  a 
vague  idea  we  were  bound  for  Champagne. 
The  station  bore  a  name  I  did  not  know: 
Cuperly.  I  looked  on  my  map  and  found 
that  this  village  was  right  in  the  field  of 
Chalons,  several  kilometres  to  the  south  of 
the  villages  of  Perthes  and  Hurlus,  which 
have  so  often  been  mentioned  in  the  dis- 
patches of  late.  So  we  are  to  be  launched  in 
the  midst  of  an  offensive!  What  joy! 

I  hastily  scribbled  a  card  to  my  mother 
and  gave  it  to  a  trainman,  who  promised  to 
mail  it. 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

As  we  stood  waiting  in  the  cold,  our  atten- 
tion was  drawn  to  the  autobuses  of  a  provision 
convoy  going  along  the  road  phantom-like 
through  the  fog.  And  we  noticed  also  a  dull 
rumble  like  a  prolonged  roll  of  thunder.  It 
was  cannon. 

*^ Sling  knapsacks!  Take  arms!  Fours  right! 
Forward!  March!"  And  the  battalion  swung 
into  a  road  that  was  broken  up  and  covered 
with  mud,  a  gray,  filthy,  liquid  mud  that 
seemed  to  flood  the  whole  countryside.  An 
artillery  convoy  came  by  and  spattered  us 
badly.  It  was  cold. 

Two  kilometres  farther  on  we  halted  at  the 
edge  of  a  village  where  we  were  to  breakfast. 
I  promptly  attended  to  the  kitchens  of  my 
section;  two  men  from  each  squad  went  to  get 
wood,  and  before  long  four  fires  were  burning 
merrily.  Pans  were  brought  forth  from  their 
places  above  the  knapsacks,  and  soon  the 
portions  of  coffee  and  sugar  provided  us  with 
a  "juice"  ^  that  was  much  appreciated  in 
the  dampness  of  the  winter  morning.  I  gave 
orders  to  warm  some  canned  beef  in  wine  for 
the  men,  and  they  had  a  real  feast.  While  our 
*  JuSf  soldiers'  slang  for  coffee. 
4 


ARRIVAL  IN  THE  ARMY  ZONE 

soldiers  were  resting  after  their  meal,  we  sec- 
tion commanders,  together  with  the  other  offi- 
cers, accepted  the  hospitaHty  of  some  artillery 
ofl&cers,  who  made  us  welcome  with  several 
bottles  of  champagne.  The  festivity  was  at 
its  height  when  the  bugle  sounded.  It  was  time 
to  start  out  once  again.  For  what  destination? 
We  did  not  know. 

We  marched  two  hours  along  the  slippery 
road  before  coming  to  La  Cheppe,  where  we 
were  to  await  the  return  of  the  brigade  that 
was  in  the  trenches.  We  took  possession  of 
our  quarters.  My  section  was  comfortably  bil- 
leted in  a  large  barn  well  supplied  with  straw, 
and  I  chose  to  make  my  abode  among  my 
poilus,  I  should  like  to  be  in  closer  contact 
with  them  and  I  am  determined  to  make 
friends  with  them  if  possible.  When  the  regi- 
ment left  the  training-camp  I  was  able  to  pro- 
cure a  few  little  extras  that  they  wanted,  and 
this  evening  they  came  and  invited  me  to 
dinner.  The  artful  member  of  the  third  squad 
had  succeeded  in  getting  into  the  good  graces 
of  an  old  peasant  woman,  who  gave  him  two 
chickens.  The  men  insisted  on  my  doing  the 
honors,  and  I  accepted  with  pleasure.  We 
5 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

chatted  together  familiarly  and  I  told  them 
how  glad  I  was  to  be  at  the  front,  and  en- 
larged especially  on  the  great  things  I  ex- 
pected of  them.  "With  you,  lieutenant,  we 
will  go  anywhere,"  said  a  corporal,  and  they  all 
applauded.   Of  course  I  was  much  pleased. 

And  then  what  a  welcome  the  peasants  gave 
us!  My  old  hostess  was  determined  to  give  up 
her  bedroom  to  me,  but  I  told  her  I  would 
rather  sleep  on  the  straw  with  my  men.  At 
least  I  am  making  use  of  her  warm  kitchen 
where  I  am  scribbling  these  lines  in  my  diary 
after  writing  to  all  my  family. 

But  to-morrow?  What  of  to-morrow?  The 
roar  of  the  cannon  is  very  loud.  An  attack  is 
to  be  made  to-night  and  I  shall  have  no  share 
in  it.  But  my  turn  will  come  soon,  I  hope. 

February  14.  The  booming  of  the  cannon  all 
night  kept  me  from  sleeping.  However,  I  was 
snug  and  warm  in  my  bed  of  straw  beside  my 
dear  friend  Henry.  We  are  glad  to  be  together 
at  the  war  after  being  chums  in  college. 

I  am  on  duty  this  morning  with  my  section. 
We  are  posted  for  police  duty  at  a  crossroads, 
and  we  are  instructed,  in  addition  to  keeping 
6 


ARRIVAL  IN  THE  ARMY  ZONE 

order  in  the  village,  to  regulate  the  movements 
of  the  convoys  which  pass  incessantly.  What 
an  infernal  whirl!  Not  a  minute  passes  with- 
out something  going  by  —  a  great  ammunition 
train,  heavy  cannons  drawn  by  motor  tractors, 
a  regiment  of  infantry  returning  from  the 
trenches,  muddy  but  triumphant.  The  poilus 
are  radiant.  We  surround  them.  They  give 
details.  Good  news!  "Hot  fight,  all  right,  but 
the  Boches  are  catching  it  like  fun." 

And  then  there  go  our  old  Paris  autobuses, 
transformed  into  meat  wagons.  Some  of  them 
still  flaunt  their  signs:  Madeleine  —  Bastille, 
Neuilly  — Hotel  de  Ville,  Clichy  —  Odeon. 
One  is  marked  "complet,"  and  the  places,  if 
you  please,  are  filled  by  huge  cattle.  O  valiant 
autobuses  of  Paris,  you  forget  your  luxurious 
existence  of  Parisian  bourgeois  and  jolt  bravely 
on  through  the  mud  of  Champagne,  accepting 
these  hardships  to  save  your  country.  We 
take  off  our  hats  to  you  in  your  coat  of  mud, 
for  you  also  are  doing  your  duty. 

I  went  outside  a  moment  to  have  a  look 
around  the  village.  It  is  very  nearly  intact, 
as  it  is  out  of  range  of  cannon.  The  inhabit- 
ants are  either  peasants  or  refugees  from  the 

7 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

invaded  districts.  Every  one  is  busied  in  some 
way  with  the  soldiers.  Many  have  opened 
little  shops  and  sell  provisions,  underclothing, 
and  various  other  articles.  Wine  merchants 
are  not  very  numerous,  and  the  sale  of  spirits 
is  strictly  regulated.  It  is  necessary  to  get 
permission  of  the  ofl&cers,  and  they  occasion- 
ally give  it,  wishing  to  improve  the  army 
ordinary.  But  the  commissariat  is  generous 
and  each  soldier  receives  a  pint  of  wine  a  day. 
We  officers  have  a  special  mess.  We  eat  at  the 
house  of  a  peasant  who  has  loaned  us  his  rooms. 
Our  cook  has  been  a  chef  in  the  big  hotels  of 
Nice.  He  is  excellent,  and  has  just  brought 
me  at  my  post  a  most  savory  roast  of  mutton. 
Weather  still  lowering.  I  took  out  of  my 
little  chest  my  old  volume  of  Rabelais  and  I 
occupy  my  leisure  moments  feasting  on  the 
exploits  of  Picrochole.  I  have  brought  along 
a  few  books  that  are  easy  to  handle,  mostly 
our  great  classics  that  I  have  been  neglecting 
these  latter  years.  I  wish  to  keep  up  my  intel- 
lectual life. 

February  i6.  Noise  of  battle  in  the  distance. 
Convoys  pass  back  and  forth  incessantly. 
8 


ARRIVAL  IN  THE  ARMY  ZONE 

This  evening  the  battalion  had  manoeuvres; 
the  men  must  not  be  left  idle.  Not  that  any 
one  wants  to  loaf.  We  are  all  burning  to  get 
into  action.  It  is  tiresome  to  be  so  near  the 
fight  and  know  only  its  echoes. 

After  supper  I  went  for  a  walk  with  my 
friend.  Twilight  and  absolute  cahn  brooded 
over  the  plains  of  Champagne.  The  cold, 
round  moon,  palely  reflected  in  the  mud  and 
ruts,  cast  glints  as  of  steel.  Nature,  so  indiffer- 
ent to  the  deeds  of  men,  helped  us  to  forget 
them  for  a  time,  and  our  talk  grew  intimate 
and  turned  on  old  times  as  we  walked  along 
in  the  silence  of  the  night. 

February  ly.  The  regiment  returns  to-day 
from  the  trenches.  We  are  getting  better 
acquainted  with  the  peasants,  who  are  the 
very  soul  of  kindness.  They  have  been  telUng 
us  of  their  sufferings:  how  the  Boches  occu- 
pied the  village,  —  without  destroying  it  how- 
ever, for  they  expected  to  settle  there  for  a 
long  time,  —  and  then  the  endless  files  of 
Germans  who  kept  calling  out  as  they  passed 
that  the  gates  of  Paris  were  open  to  them; 
finally,  the  return  of  these  same  Germans, 
9 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

shamefaced,  pushed  back  by  the  irresistible 
thrust  of  our  victory  of  the  Marne.  And  these 
good  people  went  mad  with  joy  when  behind 
the  fleeing  enemy  they  saw  the  first  lines  of  the 
French  with  the  bugler  marching  at  the  head, 
their  native  land  coming  back  to  them. 

We  have  just  inspected  supplies  and  equip- 
ment. Each  soldier  has  twelve  biscuit,  cans  of 
"bully ''  beef,  coffee,  sugar,  and  bouillon  cubes, 
without  counting  his  own  provisions,  which 
are  plentiful.  The  reserve  supplies  are  sacred; 
they  are  never  to  be  touched  except  under 
express  orders.  Each  man  has  also  one  hundred 
and  fifty  cartridges.  All  these  material  details 
have  been  attended  to,  but  this  is  not  the 
whole  of  our  readiness.  We  are  also  filled  to 
bursting  with  enthusiasm,  determination,  and 
eagerness  to  fight.  We  start  soon  for  the  fir- 
ing line. 

February  ig.  We  are  ordered  to  go  and  join 
a  different  regiment;  our  battalion  is  detached 
and  we  are  to  fill  in  the  vacancies  made  by 
the  recent  fighting.  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to 
stay  with  my  men.  It  is  my  most  earnest 
desire. 

10 


IMPRESSIONS  BEHIND  THE  FRONT 

February  20,  This  morning  we  left  La 
Cheppe  to  go  to  S.  S.  Weather  dry;  landscape 
still  depressing,  a  desolate,  muddy  plain  with 
a  few  scattered  trees. 

At  Suippes  we  had  our  first  real  impression 
of  war;  the  town  is  half  demolished  and  the 
chateau  and  factories  are  dismal  ruins  —  de- 
struction wherever  you  look.  And  cannon 
thunder  in  the  distance.  A  shell  fell  with  a 
great  crash  on  the  railroad  track  near  by,  and 
a  great  mass  of  earth  rose  slowly  into  the  air. 
The  Boches  are  very  fond  of  aiming  at  this 
track,  but  their  marmites  will  have  a  hard 
time  stopping  this  enormous  traffic.  What  an 
endless  number  of  cars  and  sheds,  what  moun- 
tains of  merchandise!  And  the  procession  of 
trains  never  stops. 

At  last  we  reached  S.  S.  and  came  in  touch 
with  our  new  regiment.  I  belong  to  the 
Eleventh  Company  and  command  the  second 
section.  I  am  to  keep  my  men.  The  ofl&cers 
received  us  kindly.  We  are  lucky  enough  to 
arrive  at  a  moment  of  activity,  and  we  shall 
not  lack  work. 

February  21.  The  village  is  largely  in  ruins. 
II 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

The  church  has  been  turned  into  a  hospital. 
Its  steeple  is  hidden  by  a  covering  of  branches, 
and  from  a  distance  it  probably  looks  to  the 
enemy  aviators  just  like  the  neighboring 
trees.  A  little  farther  on  was  a  shower-bath, 
which  was  welcome,  for  we  were  pretty  well 
plastered  with  mud. 

The  cemetery,  in  the  midst  of  the  fields,  is 
full  of  httle  wooden  crosses.  This  evening  I 
saw  the  funeral  of  an  ofl&cer  —  a  pine  coffin 
followed  by  a  bare  handful  of  men  —  the  regi- 
ment was  probably  in  the  trenches.  A  soldier- 
priest  with  the  military  medal  on  his  breast 
pronounced  the  benediction. 

We  have  no  news  of  anything  or  anybody. 
No  mail  of  any  kind  has  come  through  yet. 
Shall  I  have  to  go  into  the  trenches  without 
receiving  a  single  letter?  I  do  not  need  en- 
couragement, but  I  wish  I  could  have  had 
some  word  from  home.  Well,  we  start  for  the 
trenches  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MARCH  TO  THE  TRENCHES 

February  23,  At  last!  I  have  just  been  ad- 
mitted to  the  sacred  ranks  of  the  poilu;  I  have 
just  had  a  magnificent  baptism  of  fire,  and 
really  the  Boches  have  done  me  honor.  But 
since  this  journal  is  to  be  a  faithful  record  of 
my  campaign,  I  must  go  back  a  little,  and 
follow  in  order  the  events  of  the  last  few  days. 
Three  days  ago,  then,  we  came  to  the 
trenches.  Orders  arrived  in  the  morning.  The 
captain  called  us  together  and  showed  us  our 
respective  positions  on  a  map  of  our  line  of 
defenses.  Our  section  extended  to  the  east  of 
the  Perthes-Hurlus  line  facing  the  north.  Then 
after  we  section  commanders  had  received 
final  instructions,  the  company  assembled  and 
the  captain  made  a  short  speech.  Most  of  us 
were  youngsters  who  had  not  yet  been  under 
fire,  or  else  men  who  were  wounded  at  the 
beginning  of  the  war.  "Our  introduction  to 
the  first-line  trenches  would  not  give  us  a  very 
complete  notion  of  what  war  is  really  like. 
13 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

Our  trench  will  be  clean  and  well  built,  we 
shall  not  have  to  attack,  and  the  Germans 
will  certainly  have  the  good  taste  not  to  bother 
us  too  much/'  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether 
these  predictions  were  destined  to  be  fulfilled 
by  the  events  that  followed. 

We  were  to  start  at  5  p.m.  Troops  are  always 
relieved  and  moved  at  night  in  order  to  escape 
being  seen  by  the  enemy  and  avoid  inoppor- 
tune bombardments.  The  day  was  spent  in 
preparations.  All  the  men  took  baths;  then 
stocked  up  their  haversacks  and  filled  their 
canteens.  They  bought  great  quantities  of 
canned  goods;  also  chocolate,  condensed  milk, 
and  cigarettes.  Any  superfluous  articles  were 
taken  out  of  the  knapsacks  and  left  in  one  of 
the  rooms  of  the  encampment.  As  the  cold 
was  sharp,  mufl9[ers  were  given  out,  and  warm 
helmets,  knitted  by  the  devoted  hands  of  the 
women  of  France  or  of  America.  The  men  then 
rigged  themselves  out  after  the  true  poilu 
fashion  —  greatcoats  with  the  flaps  let  down, 
double  leggings,  cartridge  boxes  full  to  burst- 
ing, canteens  and  haversacks  bulging  at  their 
hips,  and  above  them  the  fringe  of  a  long 
muflaier  ready  to  be  wrapped  three  times 
14 


THE  MARCH  TO  THE  TRENCHES 

around  their  necks  and  over  mouths  from 
which  protruded  the  ever-present  pipe.  Last 
of  all,  the  stick,  fantastically  carved,  to  aid  in 
walking  through  the  mud. 

We  ate  early.  At  four  o'clock  I  called  the 
roll  and  made  sure  that  everything  was  com- 
plete —  food,  tools,  equipment  —  and  that 
the  guns  were  clean.  I  gave  parting  instruc- 
tions to  the  cooks  who  were  to  remain  at  the 
hillock  of  Hurlus.  Everything  was  in  good 
shape.  The  company  assembled  on  the  road. 
There  was  a  general  roll-call.  Beside  us,  the 
three  other  companies  of  the  battalion  were 
occupied  in  the  same  way.  At  a  whistle  from 
the  major  the  companies  began  to  move. 

While  we  were  going  through  the  village 
we  kept  at  attention  and  shouldered  arms,  but 
as  soon  as  we  got  by  the  cemetery  the  com- 
mand was  given,  ** Route  step!  March!"  — 
and  then  began  our  climb  toward  the  enemy. 

The  road  was  appalling.  It  was  broken 
up  by  endless  convoys  and  covered  with  an 
abominable,  sticky  mud  which  made  every 
step  an  effort,  besides  being  very  slippery.  We 
envied  the  sappers  of  the  engineering  corps 
who,  with  their  barbed  wire  and  heavy  tools, 

15 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

were  sent  to  the  front  in  the  little  DecauviUe 
railroad  that  runs  along  beside  the  road,  and 
is  used  for  carrying  provisions  and  wounded. 

We  marched  a  long  time.  At  the  end  of  the 
first  hour  we  made  the  regulation  halt,  on  the 
edge  of  a  little  wood,  where  there  was  a  very 
pretty  view  of  the  plain,  dotted  here  and  there 
with  ruined  villages. 

Suddenly  a  terrific  report  right  beside  us 
gave  us  a  disagreeable  start.  The  captain  told 
me  it  was  a  piece  of  heavy  artillery  twenty 
metres  away.  I  looked,  but  could  see  nothing. 
What  is  more,  not  once  during  our  whole 
march  did  I  succeed  in  making  out  a  single 
piece  of  artillery.  Inasmuch  as  those  who  pass 
right  beside  our  guns  cannot  see  them,  all  the 
more  reason  to  hope  that  enemy  aviators  will 
not  be  able  to  ferret  them  out! 

But  if  the  big  guns  were  not  visible,  it  was 
easy  enough  to  see  the  gunners,  or  at  least 
such  of  them  as  were  not  busy  with  their  pieces. 
They  sat  smoking  their  pipes  at  their  front 
doors,  for  these  gentlemen,  mind  you,  have 
houses.  Nicely  hidden  under  the  trees  are 
mud  huts,  all  covered  with  sod  and  branches. 
They  look  like  the  giant  ant-hills  depicted  in 
i6 


THE  MARCH  TO  THE  TRENCHES 

natural  history  books,  or  the  habitations  of  a 
Hottentot  village.  Stairs  lead  down,  seem- 
ingly deep  into  the  earth,  and  a  peep  inside 
that  I  managed  to  get  as  I  passed,  convinced 
me  that  this  primitive  form  of  architecture 
shelters  a  comfortable  and  modern  interior. 

We  kept  on  marching,  ever  and  always  in 
the  mud  that  plastered  our  shoes  and  flecked 
the  bottoms  of  our  coats  with  a  border  of  gray 
spots  that  made  them  look  like  altar  cloths 
adorned  with  precious  embroidery.  Above 
our  heads  shrieked  our  shells,  outstripping  us 
on  our  way  to  the  Boches;  and  very  near  at 
hand  our  cannon  thundered.  This  seemed  to 
displease  our  friends  the  Teutons,  for  suddenly 
a  great  humming,  as  of  a  monster  insect,  grew 
louder  and  louder  and  came  straight  toward 
us,  making  everybody  duck,  before  it  finally 
burst  two  hundred  metres  farther  on.  The 
first  impression  is  not  at  all  pleasant.  The 
conviction  is  crystal  clear  that  this  snarling 
mass  is  headed  straight  upon  you,  and  there 
flash  through  your  mind  all  the  tales  of  hor- 
rible wounds  you  have  ever  read  or  heard  of 
— men  blown  to  bits  or  disembowelled  or  what 
not — none  of  them  things  one  is  anxious  to  ex- 
.  17 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

perience  at  first  hand.  Another,  then  another 
shell  whistles  by.  Every  head  bobs  down, 
while  we  all  try  in  vain  to  hide  our  qualms 
under  a  smile;  our  nerves  are  not  yet  hard- 
ened to  the  fray.  ^Xolumn  of  files!"  com- 
mands the  captain,  and  the  column  marching 
four  abreast  melts  into  four  long  lines,  very 
far  apart,  advancing  without  speaking.  A  few 
harmless  shells  still  went  by,  but  just  as  the 
French  seemed  to  be  getting  angry,  and  the 
detonations  barked  louder  and  louder,  the 
Germans  decided  that  the  joke  was  stale,  and 
nothing  more  came  to  make  our  hearts  beat 
pitapat.  However,  we  kept  on  ducking  every 
time  a  shell  came  too  near,  —  whether  French 
or  German  it  made  no  difference,  —  and  we 
began  to  laugh  every  time  we  got  a  scare  for 
nothing. 

We  climbed  over  a  whole  series  of  trenches, 
four  or  five  Hnes,  one  behind  the  other,  per- 
fectly constructed,  ready  to  be  used  in  case  it 
is  necessary  to  fall  back.  The  men  in  command 
are  taking  no  chances. 

After  a  fresh  halt,  the  battalion  formed  once 
more  by  sections,  four  abreast,  and  stacked 
arms.  We  had  reached  the  kitchens,  hidden 
i8 


THE  MARCH  TO  THE  TRENCHES 

in  a  little  ravine,  and  buried  deep  under- 
ground. Pots  and  pans  came  out  of  their 
places  and  were  handed  to  the  cooks.  Then 
bread  was  given  out,  and  preserves  and  wine. 
We  were  not  to  have  coffee  until  morning  in 
the  trenches. 

We  set  out  again  about  9  p.m.  One  more 
hill  to  climb  and  we  should  be  in  the  com- 
munication trenches. 

The  battalion  had  been  broken  up  and  two 
companies  only  were  to  follow  this  sector,  the 
two  others  going  more  to  the  east.  Suddenly, 
down  a  slight  incline  we  slid  into  the  communi- 
cation trench  one  by  one  and  began  to  march 
between  two  walls  of  earth  where  we  were 
entirely  sheltered;  it  was  hard  to  believe  that 
we  had  arrived  near  the  enemy.  The  night  was 
dark  and  silent;  no  noise  of  cannon,  only 
a  few  stray  bullets  that  went  over  our  heads 
with  a  sound  like  the  swish  of  silk.  A  fine  rain 
began  to  fall.  After  a  march  of  about  five  hun- 
dred metres,  the  command  to  halt  was  given. 
We  were  at  our  destination.  "The  commander 
of  the  second  section,"  said  a  voice  in  the  dark- 
ness. I  stepped  forward.  It  was  the  guide 
attached  to  the  troops  we  were  about  to  relieve 
19 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

who  was  to  conduct  me  to  my  position.  I  re- 
ceived from  my  predecessor  instructions  with 
regard  to  the  sector:  two  haK-sections  in  sep- 
arate salients,  two  listening-patrols,  the  en- 
emy one  hundred  and  fifty  metres  away, 
sector  quiet,  no  casualties  during  the  days 
he  had  spent  there.  But  the  Germans  are 
continually  on  the  watch,  and  we  must  be 
careful  not  to  show  our  heads  above  the  edge. 

When  I  had  gained  this  information  I  asked 
the  sergeant  who  was  with  me  to  go  bring  up 
the  men.  As  my  section  came  up  on  the  right, 
the  men  we  were  replacing  filed  by  on  the  left. 
Soon  I  was  sole  master  of  the  field.  One  squad 
was  quickly  detailed  for  guard  duty;  double 
listening-patrols,  relieved  every  hour,  posted 
in  shell  holes  in  front  of  the  trenches  in  the 
midst  of  the  wire  entanglement. 

The  night  was  very  quiet,  but  I  did  not 
attempt  to  sleep.  Besides,  no  one  had  any 
great  desire  to  sleep  without  knowing  the 
place  a  little  better,  and  then  the  nearness  of 
the  silent  enemy  is  a  bit  awe-inspiring.  Just 
before  dawn  it  is  necessary  to  be  doubly  vig- 
ilant, for  that  is  the  critical  moment;  many 
surprise  attacks,  it  seems,  take  place  then.  At 
20 


THE  MARCH  TO  THE  TRENCHES 

four  in  the  morning  a  messenger  came  from 
the  captain  to  ask  for  a  report  of  the  events 
of  the  night.  I  was  obliged  to  answer  that 
nothing  had  happened. 

Coffee  arrived  shortly,  comforting  and  a 
little  warm  even  yet.  Then  the  day  broke, 
cold,  gray,  and  foggy.  At  last  I  was  able  to 
look  around  me. 


CHAPTER  III 

DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  TRENCH  —  LIFE  IN  THE  FIRST 
LINE  —  BOMBARDMENT,  GERMAN  ATTACK 

So  I  examine  my  domain.  It  is  not  very- 
extensive,  one  hundred  and  twenty  metres 
at  the  most,  occupied  by  my  sixty  men.  My 
trench  is  composed  of  the  communication 
trench  and  two  large  salients,  each  contain- 
ing half  a  section  or  two  squads.  Its  general 
arrangement  is  as  follows:  — 

Each  of  the  salients  is  divided  in  the  middle 
by  a  bomb-shield,  and  contains  therefore  two 
squads,  whose  dug-outs,  rather  deep,  are  at 
the  right  and  left  ends  of  the  salient.  In  front, 
in  shell  holes,  the  listening-patrols  are  posted 
during  the  night.  There  are  machine  guns  in 
each  of  the  salients.  My  headquarters  are  so 
placed  that  I  am  in  immediate  touch  with  both 
my  half -sections.  A  little  winding  trench  leads 
to  my  dug-out,  which  is  about  two  metres 
underground.  It  is  comfortable  and  contains 
a  rather  dilapidated  hair  mattress  which  the 
Germans,  formerly  proprietors  of  the  trench, 

22 


DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  TRENCH 

brought  over  from  the  village  of  Perthes.  A 
set  of  shelves  made  of  three  boards  has  on  it 
some  old  tin  cans,  along  with  the  things  I  have 
taken  out  of  my  haversack.  Two  or  three  pegs 
stuck  in  the  dirt  wall  serve  as  clothes  hooks. 
The  furnishing  is  completed  by  a  wooden  stool 
brought  from  the  village,  and  by  a  brazier  in 
which  charcoal  is  burning.  In  one  corner  are 
some  trench  rockets  and  a  large  case  of 
cartridges. 

This  domicile  is  not  at  all  bad;  it  is  almost 
luxurious.  The  dug-outs  of  my  soldiers  are 
large  undergrounds  holding  fifteen  men  very 
comfortably.  Straw  helps  ward  off  the  damp- 
ness of  the  soil  of  Champagne  and  discarded 
bayonets  stuck  in  the  walls  serve  as  hooks 
for  canteens  and  haversacks.  Meanwhile,  as 
the  cold  was  a  bit  sharp,  I  had  some  braziers 
made  for  the  men  by  piercing  holes  in  old  tin 
cans  with  bayonets.  Charcoal  was  brought 
up  from  the  kitchens. 

So  life  was  sufficiently  endurable.  We  felt 
pretty  secure.  The  loopholes  were  well  pro- 
tected, and  one  could  fire  comfortably.  The 
machine  guns  were  always  in  readiness,  and  in 
short,  the  Germans  over  opposite  did  not  seem 

23 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

malicious.  All  that  could  be  seen  of  them 
were  white  streaks  across  the  land,  many  and 
intertwined,  with  wire  entanglements  along- 
side. That  was  all  —  nothing  that  budged  or 
had  the  least  human  semblance,  only  here  and 
there  a  sort  of  ragged,  bluish  heap  that  seemed 
a  part  of  the  earth  on  which  it  lay — a  corpse. 
There  were  not  many  dead  directly  in  front 
of  us,  but  to  the  west,  on  our  left,  much  higher 
up,  in  front  of  the  skeleton  remnant  of  a 
wood,  lay  a  number  of  those  motionless  bun- 
dles, bearing  witness  to  recent  attacks. 

Thus  the  region  opposite  us  was  fairly  unin- 
teresting —  barbed  wire,  torn-up  earth,  skele- 
ton trees,  and  dead  men's  bodies.  And  the 
enemy  was  there  at  one  hundred  and  fifty 
metres.  I  discovered  this  rather  promptly, 
moreover,  and  had  a  narrow  escape.  At  a 
given  moment,  very  early  in  the  morning,  I 
went  into  the  communication  trench  that 
formed  the  eastern  end  of  my  trench.  There 
was  a  large,  hollowed-out  place  through  which 
one  could  get  a  better  view  of  what  lay  in 
front  of  us:  at  the  left,  the  ruined  village;  in 
front,  the  labyrinth  of  trenches  and  the  skele- 
ton wood.    Suddenly,  as  if  warned  by  some 

24 


LIFE   IN  THE  FIRST  LINE 

instinct,  I  turned  away  a  little.  Five  or  six 
bullets,  undoubtedly  intended  for  me,  whis- 
tled through  my  window,  one  of  them  grazing 
my  field-glass.  Not  a  little  shaken  up,  I  left 
that  dangerous  spot.  I  soon  began  to  laugh, 
however,  and  I  should  have  enjoyed  telling 
my  neighbors  the  Boches  that  they  had  missed 
me.  But  I  was  more  prudent  after  that. 

Besides,  everything  was  silent  except  for  an 
occasional  shell  that  passed  high  above  our 
heads  and  burst  so  far  away  that  we  could  not 
hear  it  explode.  Listening-patrols,  being  use- 
less during  the  day,  were  replaced  by  two  sen-- 
tries  for  each  half -section  who  watched  througld 
the  loopholes  of  the  trench  itself.  The  men  in 
their  warm  dug-outs  smoked  their  pipes,  ate, 
read,  or  played  cards.  If  this  is  war,  thought 
many  of  them,  it  is  n't  half  bad. 

But,  like  most  good  things,  it  did  not  last. 
At  nine  o'clock  a  messenger  came  to  tell  me 
that  the  captain  wanted  to  see  me.  I  went  to 
his  headquarters,  situated  in  the  second  line. 
Orders  had  just  come.  A  French  attack  was  to 
be  delivered  on  the  Boche  trenches  to  the 
north  and  east  of  Perthes.  The  object  to  be 
gained  was  as  follows:  The  firing  line  was  far 
25 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

from  being  straight;  as  a  result  of  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  the  recent  fighting,  the  German 
trenches  made  a  salient  into  the  French 
trenches;  it  was  desirable  to  destroy  this 
salient. 

To  attack  at  the  point  where  we  were  would 
have  been  costly,  for  the  distance  between  the 
two  opposing  lines  was  more  than  one  hundred 
and  fifty  metres.  The  plan  was,  therefore,  to 
attack  at  two  other  points,  so  that,  once  hav- 
ing taken  the  German  trenches  there,  the 
whole  system  could  be  enfiladed.  Our  role  was 
'.o  put  them  on  the  wrong  scent,  and  at  a 
Specified  time  to  make  as  much  noise  as  pos- 
sible with  our  muskets  and  machine  guns,  in 
order  to  attract  attention  to  ourselves  at  the 
moment  when  the  main  attack  was  being 
launched  elsewhere. 

So  I  went  back  to  my  trench  and  gave  the 
men  the  necessary  instructions.  About  ten 
o'clock  we  were  startled  by  four  loud  reports 
coming  almost  simultaneously.  It  was  a  bat- 
tery of  75's,  placed  two  hundred  metres  or  so 
behind  us.  At  the  same  instant  the  shells 
went  whistling  over  our  heads  and  raised  four 
black  clouds  in  the  trench  opposite.  It  was  the 
26 


BOMBARDMENT,  GERMAN  ATTACK 

beginning  of  the  bombardment.  It  was  very 
violent.  At  the  start  we  all  ducked,  but  we 
gradually  got  used  to  it  and  learned  to  dis- 
tinguish the  difference  in  sound  of  the  French 
firing.  Some  of  the  shells  went  by  at  mad 
speed  and  burst  almost  at  once.  Others  took 
their  time,  especially  our  Rimailles,  nick- 
named the  "ox-cart,"  which  seems  to  take  an 
airing  before  going  to  tell  its  tale  to  the 
Germans,  and  its  tale  is  generally  a  terrible 
one. 

Posted  at  a  loophole,  I  watched  through  my 
glass  the  effect  of  the  bombardment.  All  the 
German  trenches,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  were  filled  with  constantly  recurring 
explosions.  They  looked  like  an  uninterrupted 
line  of  volcanoes.  The  noise  and  the  superb 
masses  of  earth  thrown  up  into  the  air  fairly 
intoxicated  me.  The  Boches  in  their  turn  be- 
gan to  answer,  and  scorning  us  poor  infantry- 
men, sent  their  shells  far  in  our  rear  in  quest  of 
the  gunners  and  their  guns.  The  chorus  grew 
deafening.  The  sensation  was  that  of  being 
under  a  roof  of  steel,  invisible  but  with  the 
voices  of  all  the  fiends.  And  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  din,  two  larks  kept  flitting  about  joyously, 
2^ 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

and  mingled  their  song  of  life  with  the  dull 
chant  of  the  engines  of  death. 

New  orders  came,  and  I  sent  for  my  two 
sergeants  and  four  corporals.  We  were  ordered 
to  fire  during  exactly  four  minutes,  from  one 
minute  past  twelve  to  five  minutes  past 
twelve.  A  supply  of  cartridges  was  placed  be- 
side each  loophole,  so  that  every  soldier  could 
fire  the  greatest  possible  number  of  shots  in 
the  given  time.  All  guns  were  inspected. 

The  bombardment  was  growing  more  in- 
tense, and  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  distin- 
guish the  shots  from  each  other.  It  was  one 
uninterrupted  boom,  the  efficiency  fire  that 
the  Germans  call  ^' Trommelfaren^^'  or  "drum- 
fire." For  half  an  hour  the  uproar  was  enough 
to  drive  one  mad;  my  head  felt  as  if  it  were 
bound  with  iron  and  about  to  burst;  and  yet, 
in  the  midst  of  it  all,  it  was  a  great  satisfaction 
to  think  that  the  Boches  were  having  to  en- 
dure, in  addition  to  the  noise,  the  very  deadly 
effects  of  our  artillery.  We  were  unquestion- 
ably better  off  than  they. 

At  ten  minutes  to  twelve  every  one  was  at 
his  post,  and  I  also  took  my  place  with  the 
second  half-section.  I  had  carefully  set  my 
28 


BOMBARDMENT,  GERMAN  ATTACK 

watch  according  to  the  time  that  is  telephoned 
every  day  at  noon  and  midnight  to  the  various 
officers'  headquarters.  At  one  minute  past 
twelve  the  artillery  lengthened  its  range.  This 
was  the  moment,  and  I  whistled.  Immediately 
the  guns  began  their  clatter  and  the  machine 
guns  their  regular  chop.  At  twelve-five  an- 
other whistle.   "Cease  firing." 

I  had  no  sooner  whistled  the  second  time 
than  half  a  dozen  Boche  77's  fell  very  near  our 
trench.  As  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done, 
every  one  except  the  sentries  went  into  the 
dug-outs.  We  were  hotly  bombarded,  for  the 
first  six  shells  were  followed  by  others  and  still 
others.  This  was  not  altogether  according  to 
our  programme  and  the  surprise  was  a  trifle 
disagreeable.  We  had  of  a  certainty  fulfilled 
our  mission,  for  we  had  drawn  both  their  atten- 
tion and  their  fire.  During  two  hours  we  were 
deluged  with  shells;  every  shell  seemed  to  be 
coming  straight  at  us,  and  in  spite  of  ourselves 
we  shrank  together  and  ducked,  measuring 
anxiously  with  our  eyes  the  depth  of  the  dug- 
out. Mine  was  fairly  safe.  I  stayed  in  it  some 
time  with  my  sergeants,  and  we  were  none  of 
us  very  happy.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  situation 
29 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

is  a  stupid  one.  The  role  one  plays  is  purely 
passive,  and  it  is  not  pleasant  for  a  reasoning 
human  being  to  sit  by  helplessly  and  feel 
coming  toward  him  a  mass  of  brutish  matter 
capable  of  annihilating  him.  Several  shells  fell 
near  my  dug-out.  One  even  landed  in  the  little 
winding  trench  that  led  to  it,  but  the  splinters 
were  stopped  by  its  turns.  Otherwise,  they 
would  have  made  me  a  visit. 

But  I  could  not  desert  my  men  entirely,  so  I 
went  around  to  the  various  dug-outs.  Sitting 
huddled  together  my  soldiers  were  not  any 
more  used  to  this  kind  of  entertainment  than 
I  was,  and  would  doubtless  have  preferred  to 
be  somewhere  else;  but  no  one  was  hurt,  and 
they  were  glad  to  see  me.  On  coming  in  con- 
tact with  them  I  resumed  my  role  of  chief, 
and,  true  to  the  theory  of  William  James,  by 
pretending  not  to  be  afraid,  I  very  soon  dis- 
covered that  I  was  not  afraid.  I  chatted  with 
them  and  cracked  jokes,  and  all  of  a  sudden, 
everybody  felt  better.  Then  I  went  back  to 
my  own  quarters  and  made  some  tea  on  my 
brazier. 

Shells  were  still  raining  down,  but  as  none  of 
them  had  done  any  harm  up  to  that  time,  we 

30 


BOMBARDMENT,  GERMAN  ATTACK 

bothered  no  more  about  them.  They  fell  more 
especially  in  front  of  the  trench,  in  the  wire 
entanglement.  That  set  me  to  thinking,  and 
together  with  the  machine-gun  lieutenant  I 
examined  the  situation.  The  Boches  had  bat- 
tered down  the  parapet  in  several  places,  and 
the  barbed  wire  was  pretty  badly  damaged. 
Were  they  going  to  amuse  themselves  by 
attacking  us?  I  doubled  the  sentries  and  gave 
orders  that  as  soon  as  the  bombardment 
slackened  every  man  should  run  to  his  loop- 
hole. I  wondered  what  was  up,  as  I  did  not 
know  the  result  of  the  flank  attack.  I  had  no 
sooner  sent  word  to  the  captain  and  the  sec- 
tion commanders  on  either  side  than  I  saw 
through  my  glass  points  of  bayonets  here  and 
there  gleaming  in  the  sun  above  the  edge  of 
the  enemy's  trench  opposite.  ^^  Every  man  at 
the  loopholes,"  I  shouted,  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  downpour  of  shells  every  one  ran  to  his  post. 
Several  of  the  men  were  covered  with  dirt  by 
explosions,  one  even  was  knocked  down  by 
the  impact  of  a  bursting  shell,  but  no  one 
was  hit. 

Suddenly  from  the  German  trenches,  like 
devils  from  their  boxes,  emerged  the  infantry- 

31 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

men,  yelling  and  running  toward  us  waving 
their  arms.  They  were  in  close  formation, 
three  deep,  I  think,  so  that  nothing  could  be 
easier  than  to  mow  them  down.  I  quickly 
seized  a  gun  and  fired  with  the  rest.  The 
machine  guns  started  in  immediately,  and 
hardly  more  than  a  minute  later  our  assailants 
took  to  flight,  leaving  many  of  their  men  on 
the  ground.  At  fifty  metres  from  us,  forty  or 
more  Boches  were  lying  flat  on  their  faces  as  if 
waiting  for  the  order  to  stand  up.  The  machine 
gun  had  done  its  work  well.  So  the  assault  was 
beaten  back,  but  every  one  remained  at  his 
post.  Wounded  men  dragged  themselves  pain- 
fully to  their  lines;  others  were  groaning.  No 
one  thought  for  an  instant  of  firing  at  them. 
Then,  when  the  danger  was  over,  came  a  wave 
of  emotion.  I  was  frightened,  but  the  joy  of 
having  escaped  a  real  danger  made  me  very 
happy.  "Now  you're  real  poilusT'  I  cried  to 
my  men.  Everybody  lighted  a  good  pipe  and 
a  bluish  smoke  mounted  up  to  the  God  of 
Battles,  like  the  incense  of  gratitude. 

When  everything  was  quiet,  I  hurried  to 
the  captain  to  make  my  report;  he  was  well 
pleased,  congratulated  me,  and  instructed  me 
32 


BOMBARDMENT,  GERMAN  ATTACK 

to  congratulate  my  men.  Our  baptism  of  fire 
had  been  thoroughly  first-class,  and  we  be- 
haved rather  well.  During  all  this  bombard- 
ment, only  three  of  the  company  were 
wounded.  As  for  the  French  attack,  it  had 
succeeded  in  seizing  the  extreme  northern 
point  of  the  German  line. 

The  rest  of  the  afternoon  was  uneventful. 
A  few  disgruntled  shells  came  our  way,  but 
we  had  as  an  offset  the  thrilling  sight  of  a 
splendid  aeroplane  reconnaissance.  Six  French 
'planes,  in  a  half-circle,  flew  over  the  German 
trenches.  From  time  to  time  one  of  them 
dropped  a  spurt  of  flame  into  the  deepening 
twilight,  a  signal  for  the  artillery.  Shells  flew 
around  our  war-birds  like  a  multitude  of  snow- 
flakes  that  remained  floating  a  long  time  in  the 
calm  air.  But  without  paying  the  least  atten- 
tion, the  aviators  continued  their  proud  flight 
and  it  seemed  to  us  poor  buried  infantrymen 
that  they  were  bearing  aloft  all  our  pride  as 
Frenchmen,  all  our  will  to  conquer.  We  were 
enchanted,  but  at  the  same  time  a  little 
moved. 

Then  slowly  night  fell.  The  order  came  to 
detail  two  men  from  each  squad  to  go  with 

33 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

tent  sheets,  under  the  conduct  of  the  corporal 
on  duty,  to  fetch  rations  from  the  kitchens. 

The  trench  was  then  organized  for  the  night. 
Listening-patrols  were  posted  out  in  front;  it 
was  decided  that  one  squad  from  each  half- 
section  should  watch  at  the  loopholes  in  case 
of  a  return  offensive  of  the  enemy.  About  ten 
or  eleven  o'clock  it  was  time  to  think  of  mend- 
ing the  barbed  wire.  The  fatigue  brought  a 
great  quantity  of  the  Brun  networks  which 
fold  and  unfold  like  an  accordion.  They  are 
very  complicated  and  are  fastened  into  the 
ground  with  a  sort  of  fork.  I  wanted  to  direct 
the  work  myself,  so,  accompanied  by  six  men, 
I  crawled  twenty  or  thirty  metres  from  the 
trench ;  the  work  went  on  without  a  word  being 
uttered.  The  six  rows  of  wire  were  placed  one 
behind  the  other,  and  in  front  were  fixed 
strong  chevauX'de-frise,  We  were  then  in  the 
midst  of '' No-Man's  Land"  near  the  German 
corpses.  We  heard  the  groans  of  the  wounded 
and  some  little  moving  about,  which  indicated 
that  the  Germans  were  coming  to  pick  up  their 
men.  But  we  did  not  make  any  attempt  to 
molest  them,  whereas  soldiers  who  are  old  in 
the  knowledge  of  this  war  tell  me  that  German 
34 


BOMBARDMENT,  GERMAN  ATTACK 

snipers  are  always  trying  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
work  of  the  stretcher-bearers. 

When  we  got  back,  we  were  rewarded  by 
supper,  consisting  of  sardines,  roast  meat,  and 
rice,  which  we  wanned  on  the  braziers.  After 
the  meal  I  took  a  little  rest.  My  two  sergeants 
divided  the  rest  of  the  night,  and  it  was  solid 
comfort  to  go  to  sleep  snugly  wrapped  in  my 
blanket,  with  my  feet  against  the  warm  bra- 
zier. My  revolver  was  rather  uncomfortable, 
but  it  is  against  the  rules  in  the  first  lines  to 
disarm.  At  four  in  the  morning  every  one  was 
up.  Coffee  arrived,  ever  welcome.  The  day 
was  quiet;  the  Germans  did  not  attack,  but 
their  positions  were  favored  with  a  plentiful 
bombardment.  As  for  us,  we  were  let  quite 
alone  and  could  sleep  to  our  hearts'  content. 

The  only  real  hardship  was  in  not  being 
able  to  wash;  we  were  very  muddy  and  dirty, 
and  besides,  a  morning  without  a  splash  of 
cold  water  is  flat  and  savorless;  one  doesn't 
feel  really  waked  up.  But  we  will  get  used  to 
little  things  like  this,  I  suppose. 

This  afternoon,  everything  being  quiet,  I 
invited  the  neighboring  section  commander 
to  come  and  spend  a  little  time  with  me.  In 
35 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

the  trenches  we  rarely  have  anything  to  drink 
but  wine  and  coffee,  and  by  way  of  a  special 
feast  I  decided  to  make  some  chocolate.  So 
I  sent  for  a  canteen  of  water,  and  poured  some 
of  the  precious  fluid  into  my  pan  and  devoutly 
emptied  in  the  chocolate  and  sugar.  It  was 
simmering  gently  on  my  brazier,  and  I  was 
just  on  the  point  of  adding  condensed  milk, 
when  some  one  called  me  from  the  outside. 
It  was  my  orderly  coming  to  see  if  I  needed 
anything.  I  invited  him  to  join  us,  but  at  that 
precise  instant  the  stupid  battery  of  a  77  be- 
gan to  spit  its  six  shells  at  us.  Two  burst  so 
near  that  my  faithful  tampon  stumbled  in 
fright  and  fell  headlong,  taking  with  him 
brazier,  saucepan,  and  chocolate,  —  our  choc- 
olate so  nearly  ready  which  our  eyes  were 
drinking  so  hungrily.  The  poor  chap  was 
most  unhappy,  so  I  laughed,  but  I  must  con- 
fess my  laugh  was  a  bit  sickly.  At  that  mo- 
ment I  detested  the  Germans  worse  than  ever. 
It  still  gets  dark  early;  my  supply  of  candles 
was  getting  exhausted,  and  I  wanted  to  save 
my  electric  lamp.  And  yet,  I  needed  a  light. 
Then  I  remembered  we  were  to  have  sardines 
for  supper  and  the  idea  occurred  to  me  to 
36 


BOMBARDMENT,  GERMAN  ATTACK 

requisition  the  oil  and  pour  it  in  an  old  corned- 
beef  tin.  I  cut  a  round  of  cork,  put  a  string 
through  it  dipped  in  oil,  lighted  it  and  behold, 
I  had  a  night  lamp  like  the  ones  that  burn  in 
churches.  The  flame  was  a  trifle  ill-smelling 
and  rather  yellow,  but  suflScient.  I  also  told 
the  cook  to  save  me  some  mutton  tallow.  I 
melted  it  on  my  brazier  in  a  tin  can,  stuck  in 
a  string,  and  this  primitive  candle  burned 
very  well.  I  gave  the  secret  to  my  poilus. 

An  exciting  thing  happened  last  night.  It 
had  been  snowing,  and  toward  one  in  the 
morning  when  I  was  chatting  with  the 
machine  gunner,  the  sentry  outside  began  to 
fire.  At  the  same  moment  a  voice  rang  out  in 
the  night,  "Kamerad!  Kamerad!"  I  quickly 
sent  up  a  trench  rocket,  and  the  light  showed 
me  a  German  soldier  crawling  toward  us  with 
a  great  clatter  of  tinware.  I  cried  to  the  sentry 
to  let  him  alone,  and  called  to  the  man  him- 
self in  German  to  come  on.  He  appeared  on 
the  parapet  and  jumped  into  the  trench.  I 
had  him  taken  to  my  headquarters  and  there, 
revolver  in  hand,  ordered  him  to  disarm.  He 
had  no  weapons  but  his  bayonet  and  a  belt 
full  of  cartridges,  but  he  was  loaded  down 
37 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

with  canteens.  I  questioned  him  in  German. 
He  was  a  great  big  Bavarian  who  had  got  his 
fill  of  the  war.  To-day's  bombardment  — 
absolutely  terrible,  he  said  —  had  determined 
him  to  flee.  He  managed  to  be  detailed  for 
water  fatigue,  then  made  his  way  to  our  lines. 
He  had  had  nothing  to  eat,  for  our  bombard- 
ment made  it  impossible  to  bring  up  food. 
I  gave  him  some  bread  and  chocolate  while 
waiting  for  supper  to  arrive.  I  kept  him  until 
morning  in  order  to  ask  him  certain  questions, 
especially  as  to  the  effect  of  our  artillery  on 
the  trenches  opposite.  He  told  me  that  the 
attack  of  the  day  before  had  cost  them  many 
men,  and,  furthermore,  pointed  out  without 
much  urging  the  position  of  their  machine 
guns  and  also  of  a  certain  little  revolver  can- 
non that  greatly  annoyed  us.  This  informa- 
tion was  communicated  to  the  artillery  and 
since  then  the  revolver  cannon  is  silent.  I  kept 
the  man's  cartridge  belt  and  canteens,  rather 
good  ones,  and  distributed  them  among  my 
men.  In  the  morning  our  Boche  was  sent  to 
the  commander.  A  happy  man  was  he  to 
have  said  good-bye  to  war. 
A  little  later  my  section  went  to  the  second 
38 


BOMBARDMENT,  GERMAN  ATTACK 

lines,  into  the  dug-outs.  Of  the  four  sections 
of  the  company  only  three  are  in  the  first  line, 
one  being  held  in  reserve  for  reinforcements. 
Each  day  we  change  and  now  it  was  my  turn. 
Nothing  to  do.  Deep  dug-outs.  That  is  where 
I  have  been  writing  all  this  long  account  in 
my  notebook. 

February  28,  This  morning  I  was  able  to 
wash  in  the  snow.  It  is  good  to  be  clean,  and  I 
feel  very  fit. 

The  end  of  the  day  yesterday  was  not  quiet; 
at  four  o'clock  a  note  informed  us  that  a  Ger- 
man counter-attack  was  imminent.  Vigilance 
and  coolness  were  urged;  our  positions  must 
be  held  at  any  cost.  In  case  of  attack,  the 
reserve  section  —  mine,  therefore  —  was  to  go 
to  the  first  line  to  strengthen  the  points  at- 
tacked. I  went  to  make  sure  of  my  fighting 
post  and  then  took  my  men  there,  so  that 
there  would  be  no  confusion  in  case  we  were 
needed. 

The  counter-attack  did  not  come;  we  were 

heavily  bombarded,  but  fortunately  we  were 

well  sheltered  and  none  of  my  men  were  hit; 

what  is  more,  we  hardly  noticed  the  shells. 

39 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

The  announcement  came  that  we  were  to  be 
relieved  at  2  A.M.  —  joyful  news.  Say  what 
you  will,  we  have  been  through  a  good  deal  of 
bodily  and  mental  strain  and  we  have  not  had 
much  sleep.  Meanwhile  my  section  is  ordered 
to  clean  the  snow  out  of  the  communication 
trenches.  And  then  we  shall  return  to  the 
rear! 


CHAPTER  IV 

RECUPERATING  —  LIFE   IN   CANTONMENT   AND   IN 
CAMP 

March  3,  Great  disappointment  on  reaching 
our  cantonment.  No  letters!  And  yet  it  is 
thirty  days  since  I  came  away.  We  are  still 
at  S.  S.  in  the  same  quarters,  except  that  I 
share  a  room  with  my  friend  Henry;  the  men 
are  well  fixed  and  have  plenty  of  straw.  I 
am  glad  to  possess  a  sort  of  home. 

We  were  relieved  at  2  a.m.  The  march  in 
the  snow  was  long  and  difficult.  At  Hurlus 
the  battalion  was  re-formed  and  the  roll  was 
called  near  a  wood  wheire  there  was  a  giant 
masked  battery  —  four  cannons  of  220  milli- 
metres rose  formidably  under  their  veil  of 
foliage.  The  casualties  proved  to  be  slight, 
perhaps  twenty  men  in  all.  In  my  section 
every  one  was  present. 

Then  began  the  march  through  the  snow. 
We  were  all  so  tired  out  by  it  following  upon 
the  days  in  the  trenches  that  the  minute  we 
arrived  and  got  rid  of  our  equipment,  we  threw 
ourselves  down  and  went  to  sleep. 
41 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

I  woke  up  at  nine,  had  a  bath  and  a  change 
of  linen,  and  feeling  greatly  refreshed,  turned 
my  attention  to  my  men.  The  morning  was 
left  free  and  many  of  them  slept  right  through. 
The  afternoon  was  devoted  to  cleaning  cloth- 
ing and  arms,  and  every  one  had  a  bath. 

I  explored  the  village  a  little  and  found  the 
traffic  at  the  station  particularly  interesting. 
I  chatted  with  several  staff  officers;  they  gave 
me  very  little  information,  but  one  of  them 
handed  me  a  copy  of  the  "Matin"  which  I 
read  eagerly. 

But  I  am  still  tired  and  sleepy  and  I  am 
cross  at  not  having  any  letters.  It  seems  to 
me  it  would  have  made  up  for  all  our  hard 
work  of  the  last  few  days. 

March  4,  This  morning  reveille  at  eight; 
review  of  arms  and  clothing  —  a  formality 
quickly  gone  through,  for  the  men  understand 
that  their  gun  is  their  best  friend  and  they 
take  great  care  of  it.  And  in  spite  of  certain 
accounts  in  the  papers,  the  soldier  is  not  fond 
of  being  dirty.  He  does  not  revel  in  his  mud 
and  filth,  but  suffers  from  it.  Some  of  this 
misapprehension  is  probably  due  to  the  false 
42 


RECUPERATING 

derivation  credited  to  the  word  poilu.  It  is 
not  derived  from  the  fact  that  the  soldier  is 
hirsute  and  unshaven.  It  is  an  old  word. 
Under  the  First  Empire  they  were  the  gren- 
adiers with  their  bearskin  bonnets,  Napoleon^s 
best  troops.  They  called  brave  a  trois  polls 
any  one  who  was  worthy  to  be  a  grenadier. 
To-day  the  word  poilu  means  simply  a  good 
soldier. 

Our  ofl&cers'  mess  is  very  well  set  up.  We 
are  going  to  have  a  special  fund  for  extras  dur- 
ing recuperation.  The  cook  is  nothing  short 
of  a  blessing. 

At  last  this  afternoon  the  baggage-master 
announced  that  our  communications  with  the 
rear  were  open.  He  brought  us  a  quantity  of 
letters;  I  had  for  my  share  thirty-two.  "Joy, 
joy,  tears  of  joy,"  as  Pascal  said  under  slightly 
different  circumstances. 

I  passed  the  evening  with  the  interpreting 
officer,  to  whom  I  introduced  myself,  offering 
my  services  if  he  needed  any  help  in  translat- 
ing documents.  He  was  most  friendly,  gave 
me  champagne,  and  showed  me  German  let- 
ters and  notebooks.  They  spoke  volumes  as 
to  the  state  of  their  morale. 

43 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

To-morrow  we  go  camping  in  a  little  woods 
near  La  Cheppe.  The  snow  has  melted,  the 
weather  is  fine,  almost  spring-like. 

March  6,  In  camp.  The  whole  regiment, 
battalion  by  battalion,  is  gathered  together 
in  this  woods.  We  marched  to  the  music  of 
the  band,  flag  flying,  into  the  village  of  B.-le- 
Chateau  and  reached  this  wood  about  four. 
Signboards  on  trees  indicated  the  places  of 
the  companies.  The  companies  were  disposed 
in  a  deployed  line,  the  sections  being  side  by 
side,  and  in  this  way  the  ground  they  were  to 
occupy  was  marked  out.  The  squads  of  my 
section  took  their  places  and  began  to  raise 
their  tents  in  groups  of  six.  Each  soldier  car- 
ries above  his  knapsack  a  waterproof  tent 
sheet  in  which  he  wraps  his  blanket;  four  of 
these  sheets  make  the  tent  proper,  while  the 
other  two  are  used  to  close  the  openings  at 
each  end.  Mine  I  shared  with  my  sergeants 
and  my  orderly.  Straw  was  given  to  us  and 
the  whole  thing  was  perfect. 

We  had  an  absolute  rest;  nothing  to  do  but 
breathe  in  the  air  filled  with  the  fragrance  of 
the  pines,  to  take  walks  or  go  hunting.  There 
44 


CANTONMENT  AND  CAMP 

are  quantities  of  rabbits  all  about,  and  the  men 
got  up  battues  which  wonderfully  improve 
the  army  fare.  The  company  mustered  once 
a  day,  simply  for  roll-call  and  to  hear  orders 
read.  But  we  were  forbidden  to  go  very  far 
away,  so  as  to  be  ready  in  case  of  an  alarm. 
The  regimental  band  rehearsing  its  pieces 
gave  us  pleasant  concerts.  To  be  sure,  the 
repertory  is  not  remarkably  choice,  but  selec- 
tions from  well-known  operas,  polkas  of  Offen- 
bach, and  flute  solos  give  a  great  deal  of  pleas- 
ure in  this  rough  life.  But  some  of  the  military 
marches  are  really  beautiful,  ^^Sambre  and 
Meuse,''  for  example,  when  the  whole  band 
and  the  bugler  play  it  together. 

It  is  full  of  charm,  this  open-air  life  in  the 
country;  in  the  evening,  when  it  is  cold,  we 
make  big  fires  and  sit  around  them,  smoking 
and  chatting  happily.  Our  morale  is  excellent; 
wine  brought  from  the  village,  repose,  the 
crackling  fire,  and  the  knowledge  of  duty  well 
done  —  much  there  is  to  make  the  heart  gay. 
I  have  written  a  great  many  letters.  I  had  so 
many  to  answer.  And  I  have  read  anew  my 
'^Don  Quixote''  with  delight. 


4S 


DIARY  OF  A   FRENCH  OFFICER 

March  7.  Sunday,  Mass  at  La  Cheppe,  the 
village  where  we  were  first  quartered;  a  Kttle 
church  full  of  soldiers,  a  few  peasant  women  in 
black,  a  very  old  priest  who  spoke  with  sub- 
lime simplicity  of  the  dead.  I  went  to  call  on 
my  former  hosts,  who  were  delighted  to  see 
me  again.  The  rain  made  me  hurry  back,  for 
the  roads  were  already  beginning  to  be  heavy. 
I  had  to  cut  across  lots,  and  even  then  my 
shoes  were  weighed  down  with  mud.  The  rest 
of  the  time  I  spent  in  our  tent  chatting,  read- 
ing, and  smoking. 

March  8.  We  start  for  the  firing  line  again 
this  evening.  Farewell  tranquillity  and  the 
rustic  life.  But  we  go  back  willingly.  It  seems 
that  the  sector  is  no  longer  the  same.  The 
order  of  the  day  informs  us  that  recent  attacks 
made  it  possible  to  take  the  whole  system  of 
German  defenses  in  front  of  our  former  trench, 
which  is  now  the  third  or  fourth  line.  We  are 
to  occupy  positions  newly  acquired. 

Evening.  We  are  making  a  halt  for  the  night. 
It  is  impossible  to  make  at  one  stretch  the 
whole  trip  to  the  first  lines  in  this  mud.    We 
46 


CANTONMENT  AND  CAMP 

started  shortly  after  noon  and  marched  the 
rest  of  the  day  in  a  heavy,  sticky  mud  that  is 
very  exhausting.  And  the  rain  keeps  faUing, 
icy  and  monotonous.  What  will  the  trenches 
be  like? 

We  are  billeted  for  the  night  in  a  kind  of 
little  village  of  huts  made  of  earth  and  wood, 
completely  hidden  by  the  trees  from  prying 
cannon,  and  we  are  passably  comfortable.  I 
have  for  myself  and  my  orderly  a  little  shanty 
with  a  place  to  make  a  fire,  and  a  comfortable 
bed  of  pine  needles.  The  rain  is  pattering  on 
the  roof.  To-morrow  we  return  to  the  trenches. 
Cannon  boom  heavily.  There  must  be  fighting. 

March  p.  It  is  still  raining;  the  soil  is  soaked. 
Our  encampment  is  called  'Xabane-Puits'' 
because  in  time  of  peace  it  used  to  contain  a 
well  and  a  cabin.  The  latter  is  now  inhabited 
by  our  brigadier-general.  As  for  the  well,  it 
has  been  put  in  order  by  the  engineers  and 
furnishes  water  to  a  very  large  section;  water 
fatigues  are  endlessly  standing  in  line  to  ob- 
tain the  precious  fluid,  which  trickles  in  rather 
a  tiny  stream. 

There  is  a  big  supply  station  here.  The  little 

47 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

railroad  that  starts  from  S.  S.  ends  in  the 
upper  part  of  this  wood,  and  huge  sheds  have 
been  built,  carefully  hidden  away  under  the 
foliage,  in  which  are  stored  all  sorts  of  supplies 
—  wine,  canned  goods,  bread,  meat,  straw  — 
everything,  in  short,  that  is  needed  by  the 
regiments  of  the  brigade  which  occupies  this 
sector.  The  traffic  is  very  lively,  and  I  watched 
the  arrival  of  a  train  and  the  unloading  and 
storing  of  the  goods.  I  also  saw  a  whole  train- 
load  of  artillery  ammunition,  which  is  kept 
in  very  sheltered  dug-outs. 

Eight  or  ten  German  machine  guns,  cap- 
tured in  the  recent  combats,  were  on  exhibi- 
tion. Our  machine  gunners  are  studying  them, 
and  I  too  examined  their  mechanism;  it  is 
well  to  know  how  to  use  the  enemy's  engines 
so  as  to  be  able,  on  occasion,  to  turn  them  the 
other  way  about. 

A  hundred  or  more  prisoners  tramped  by, 
looking  haggard  and  dejected,  both  their  faces 
and  clothing  disappearing  under  a  mask  of 
mud.  So  things  are  going  our  way.  Several 
wounded  went  by  also,  some  on  foot,  others 
drawn  by  stretcher-bearers  on  little  vehicles 
with  springs  so  arranged  that  the  men  are  not 
48 


CANTONMENT  AND  CAMP 

made  to  suffer  unduly  from  jolting  over  these 
churned-up  roads. 

Evening.  In  a  few  hours  we  are  going  to  the 
trenches.  We  are  ordered  to  take  light  equip- 
ment ;  knapsacks  are  to  be  left  in  undergrounds 
at  Hill  i8i,  in  care  of  the  oldest  man  in  each 
section.  The  trenches  we  are  about  to  occupy 
are  not  luxurious,  it  seems,  and  the  sacks 
would  be  in  our  way.  We  have  been  given 
a  large  supply  of  hand  grenades.  It  is  still 
raining. 


CHAPTER  V 

MUD  —  CORPSES  —  TAKING  A  GERMAN  TRENCH  — 
IN  THE  SECOND  LINE  —  RETURN  TO  THE  FIRST 
LINE  —  PARADE  MARCH  BEFORE  THE  FLAG 

March  15.  We  returned  yesterday  to  encamp- 
ment. During  the  last  five  days,  the  most  ter- 
rible I  have  yet  spent,  I  have  not  had  a  min- 
ute of  physical  or  mental  quiet  to  write  a  single 
line  of  my  diary.  I  have  run  the  gamut,  I 
think,  of  nearly  all  the  emotions  afforded  by 
war,  —  bombardment,  attack,  counter-attack, 
—  all  the  while  in  a  most  precarious  position, 
long  painful  marches  through  the  communica- 
tion trenches,  and  above  and  over  all,  the  mud, 
that  terrible  enemy,  much  more  terrible  than 
the  Boches.  For  the  Boches  have  their  mo- 
ments of  respite.  The  mud  is  there  ever  and 
always,  implacable  and  relentless  —  the  mud 
that  keeps  you  from  walking,  chills  you, 
clutches  you,  weighs  you  down,  and  drives 
you  to  despair.  Five  days  of  dragging  one's 
self  along  more  than  knee  deep  in  the  horrible, 
cold,  gluey  paste. 

50 


MUD 

It  began  as  soon  as  we  left  Cabane-Puits. 
But  at  first  it  was  bearable.  We  slipped,  or  got 
stuck  or  splashed  or  splattered,  but  that  was 
a  mere  nothing.  The  terrible  part  came  when 
we  went  into  the  communication  trenches. 
It  was  fortunate  that  our  knapsacks  were 
at  Hill  i8i  and  not  on  our  backs.  The  chalk 
of  Champagne  when  combined  with  water 
rapidly  forms  a  soft  paste  in  which  one  plunges 
nearly  up  to  the  waist.  And  it  was  necessary 
to  march  in  this;  in  other  words,  to  put  one 
foot  before  the  other,  to  pull  it  out  wif  enor- 
mous effort  only  to  replunge  it  in  the  mire; 
and  so'  on  for  five  kilometres.  At  the  start, 
the  effort  was  a  conscious  one,  but  at  the  end 
of  the  first  hour  the  motions  became  auto- 
matic; all  one's  sensations  resolved  themselves 
into  one  dull  pain  in  the  whole  body.  Several 
times  I  got  my  leg  stuck,  and  had  to  appeal  to 
the  man  behind  me  to  help  get  it  out.  One  of 
the  lieutenants  left  his  shoe  in  the  mud;  he  was 
literally  caught  like  a  lark  on  a  lime-twig,  and 
when,  by  dint  of  desperate  efforts,  he  brought 
forth  his  shoeless  foot,  a  great  laugh  went 
round.  But  a  little  farther  on  we  were  sobered 
by  a  terrible  discovery.  We  found  the  body 
51 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

of  a  soldier  who  had  perished  in  the  mud;  he 
had  evidently  fallen  while  alone  and  was  un- 
able to  extricate  himself  from  the  horrible 
embrace  of  the  mire.  This  was  the  first  corpse 
I  had  seen  and  I  was  much  affected. 

And  then  the  tiniest  of  obstacles  interrupted 
the  march  and  upset  the  distances  —  a  tele- 
phone wire  getting  loose  from  a  crumbling 
wall,  a  soldier  who  was  stuck,  a  fatigue  com- 
ing in  the  opposite  direction;  those  ahead 
would  have  to  stop  and  the  ones  behind 
struggle  to  march  at  the  double  to  catch  up 
with  them.  A  regular  march  was  impossible. 

At  the  end  of  three  hours  we  reached  the 
village  of  Perthes,  or  rather,  the  ruins  of 
Perthes,  melancholy  wraith  of  a  village,  a  few 
dismantled  walls,  barns  that  looked  as  if  they 
lay  in  the  path  of  an  avalanche,  and  a  church 
by  some  miracle  still  standing,  though  all 
ruinous.  Just  at  that  moment  we  were  obliged 
to  halt  in  the  communication  trench.  The 
Boches  were  firing  shrapnel.  We  huddled 
against  the  bank.  I  was  so  tired  that  I  slept 
a  few  minutes  standing  up  leaning  on  my 
stick.  The  sensation  that  people  were  moving 
awoke  me,  and  once  more  began  that  slow, 
52 


CORPSES 

automatic,  painful  advance.  A  cold  rain  was 
falling,  which  in  spite  of  my  mackintosh 
trickled  down  my  neck  to  my  chest.  Occa- 
sional spent  bullets  went  grunting  over  our 
heads.     Each  moment  seemed  eternal. 

Day  broke,  still  overcast.  We  had  been  on 
the  march  more  than  four  hours.  Several 
shells  burst  near  by.  One  man  had  his  head 
blown  open,  and  remained  standing.  It  was 
necessary  to  push  this  ghastly  thing  against 
the  wall  of  the  trench  and  nearly  climb  over  it. 

At  last,  after  a  long  time,  we  stopped.  I 
went  with  the  guide  to  inspect  my  new  quar- 
ters. The  trench  was  an  abomination  —  a 
charnel  house  —  with  dead  piled  upon  dead, 
on  the  ground  where  you  walked,  above  the 
parapets,  in  the  walls  of  the  trench  half  buried, 
with  either  their  heads  sticking  out  or  their 
feet  or  their  hands  or  their  knees.  We  were  in 
a  communication  trench  that  had  just  been 
seized  and  hastily  repaired  to  make  it  tenable. 
I  was  horribly  agitated,  but  I  managed  to  Hs- 
ten  to  the  explanations  of  the  officer  I  was 
replacing.  We  should  have  to  use  the  greatest 
care.  The  trench  was  caught  in  an  enfilade. 
Alas,  our  predecessors  had  not  had  a  very  gay 
53 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

time.  They  lost  more  than  twenty  killed  or 
wounded.  A  pleasant  prospect,  truly.  I  went 
to  get  my  men,  and  told  them  beforehand 
what  to  expect,  so  that  they  might  be  spared 
the  worst  of  the  shock  I  had  had.  It  was  not 
very  cheering,  the  sight  of  all  these  dead,  but 
our  sufferings  in  the  mud  had  dulled  our  sensi- 
bilities. 

My  trench,  then,  formed  a  point  in  the 
German  trench.  It  was  one  of  their  communi- 
cation trenches  that  we  had  not  succeeded  in 
seizing  clear  to  the  end.  The  general  system 
of  our  company  was  in  the  form  of  a  letter 

At  the  end  nearest  the  Germans,  the  trench 
that  I  was  in  was  closed  by  a  cave-in  of  earth. 
In  front  of  us,  the  rest  of  the  communication 
trench  was  empty  up  to  the  German  trench 
running  at  right  angles  to  our  sector,  and 
situated  only  about  twenty  or  twenty-five 
metres  beyond.  At  the  end  of  the  trench  was 
the  listening-post,  and  a  machine  gun  kept 
the  Germans  out  of  the  vacant  trench.  Very 
likely  their  machine  guns  also  were  ready  to 
pepper  us  if  we  made  the  least  move  in  their 
direction.  Thus  the  situation  was  far  from 
54 


CORPSES 

being  amusing.  We  were  caught  in  an  enfilade, 
and  all  day  long  grenades,  bullets,  shells,  and 
mines  assailed  our  position.  Something  must 
be  done.  Two  sentries  were  killed  at  their  post, 
so  I  decided  to  use  a  periscope.  Three  in  suc- 
cession were  shattered  by  bullets.  The  prob- 
lem was  a  hard  one.  I  changed  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  sentry  loopholes,  making  them  as 
small  as  possible.  I  took  my  place  there  my- 
self for  a  few  minutes;  somewhat  reassured, 
my  sentries  remained  on  duty  without  flinch- 
ing, beside  the  bodies  of  their  dead  comrades, 
both  of  whom  had  been  shot  through  the  eye. 
The  Germans  have  gun  supports  to  which  they 
fasten  their  guns  and  aim  them  at  a  loophole 
with  the  aid  of  a  field-glass.  After  that,  they 
have  nothing  to  do  but  fire.  Every  shot  goes 
home.  But  we  managed  to  find  a  remedy  for 
this  difficulty. 

There  are  no  dug-outs,  of  course,  and  no 
possibility  of  digging  any  in  this  earth  that 
crumbles  at  each  stroke  of  the  spade.  I  took 
my  place  nearly  in  the  middle  of  the  trench, 
on  what  looked  like  a  seat  that  some  ingenious 
soldier  had  dug  in  the  wall.  As  it  was  rather 
high,  I  asked  my  orderly  to  dig  down  a  little 
55 


DIARY  OF  A   FRENCH  OFFICER 

so  that  I  could  sit  more  comfortably.  Several 
strokes  of  the  pick  brought  to  light  the  cloth 
of  a  uniform.  I  was  sitting  in  the  lap  of  a 
corpse.  I  went  and  took  up  my  domicile  a 
little  farther  on.  The  explosion  of  a  shell 
knocked  down  some  of  the  earth  of  the  wall 
opposite,  and  in  the  breach  appeared  the 
green  and  earthy  head  of  a  corpse.  From  that 
moment,  this  head  was  my  vis-a-vis,  and  once 
the  first  shudder  of  disgust  had  passed,  I 
thought  no  more  about  it. 

In  the  end,  one  gets  used  to  living  beside 
corpses,  or  Maccabees  as  we  call  them.  They 
not  only  cease  to  make  us  uncomfortable,  but 
they  even  make  us  laugh.  Beyond  the  parapet 
there  were  two  or  three  corpses,  in  the  drollest 
attitudes.  One  looked  as  if  he  were  invoking 
Allah;  another  was  in  the  midst  of  a  back- 
somersault.  One  of  my  poilus  hung  his  can- 
teen to  a  foot  that  was  projecting  over  the 
wall;  the  others  laughed  and  followed  his 
example.  The  true  French  spirit  was  to  the 
fore  —  an  extreme  adaptability,  and  above 
all,  good  humor. 

The  odor  of  the  corpses  was  nauseating,  but 
pipes  soon  got  the  better  of  it.  Meanwhile, 
56 


CORPSES 

shells  and  grenades  kept  pouring  in  on  us.  We 
were  obliged  to  use  the  greatest  care,  and  keep 
as  near  the  side  of  the  trench  as  possible.  The 
shells  were  not  very  dangerous  when  they  fell 
in  the  mud,  for  they  either  did  not  burst  at  all, 
or  they  exploded  without  much  force,  but 
when  they  went  from  one  end  of  the  trench  to 
the  other  and  landed  farther  on,  they  were 
indeed  deadly.  Toward  noon  a  messenger 
came  to  bring  orders  from  the  captain.  He 
was  standing  in  front  of  me,  halfway  up  to 
his  waist  in  mud.  Suddenly  he  was  without  a 
head;  he  tottered,  but  did  not  fall;  two  streams 
of  blood  spurted  violently  from  the  headless 
body  and  bespattered  me.  It  is  hard  some- 
times not  to  have  the  right  to  show  feeling; 
my  men  were  all  around  me  and  I  did  not 
want  them  to  see  me  blanch.  I  simply  told 
them  to  cover  his  body  with  a  tent-sheet  that 
was  lying  near,  and  sent  word  to  the  captain. 
These  various  shocks  hardened  me.  After 
that,  I  was  more  or  less  indifferent  to  the  terri- 
ble things  that  happened.  I  even  ate  with 
good  relish  in  the  company  of  the  head  that 
was  sticking  out  of  the  trench.  The  day  passed 
slowly,  full  of  the  anguish  of  explosions,  to 

57 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

say  nothing  of  the  pain  of  every  movement 
and  the  cold  that  came  from  sitting  motion- 
less in  this  prolonged  foot-bath. 

Night  fell  early.  Then  came  orders.  In  the 
darkness  a  trench  was  to  be  dug,  joining  the 
two  ends  of  our  position.  The  men  were  to 
start  at  the  same  time  from  the  two  communi- 
cation trenches  and  meet  before  daybreak. 
The  digging  was  done  from  the  trench  itself, 
working  forward  as  the  new  trench  advanced. 
Several  times  corpses  were  turned  up;  the 
place  was  a  regular  cemetery.  The  work  went 
on  rapidly.  The  trench  was  to  be  only  a  metre 
deep  and  the  earth  was.  very  easy  to  dig.  But 
the  Boches  threw  hand  grenades,  and  I  re- 
ceived for  my  share  a  splinter  near  my  right 
eye.  I  stopped  the  bleeding  and  remained  at 
my  post.  At  three  in  the  morning  the  crews 
met. 

Rations  arrived  in  very  bad  shape.  The 
cooks  had  to  make  the  same  long  trip  through 
the  mire  that  had  cost  us  so  many  efforts.  So 
they  brought  us  the  coffee  cold,  meat  all  cov- 
ered with  mud,  and  vegetables  that  had  to  be 
thrown  away.  The  wine  alone  arrived  intact. 
Instead  of  its  being  brought  in  pails,  I  had 
58 


CORPSES 

taken  the  precaution  to  have  it  put  in  tightly 
stoppered  canteens,  the  same  ones  the  Boche 
was  carrying  when  he  crawled  up  and  sur- 
rendered. Although  the  fatigues  had  slipped 
down  several  times  or  been  knocked  down  by 
the  impact  of  shells,  the  pinard  arrived  un- 
touched, to  our  very  great  joy.  Fortunately, 
everyone  was  well  supplied  with  canned  goods. 

In  the  morning,  although  we  were  exhausted 
by  a  sleepless  night  in  addition  to  the  strain 
of  all  our  other  hardships,  the  order  came  to 
attack.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  grumbling, 
but  I  emphasized  to  my  men  that  if  our  situa- 
tion was  pitiable,  the  thing  to  do  was  to  im- 
prove it.  It  was  to  the  interest  of  all  of  us  to  go 
across  the  way,  where  we  should  certainly  be 
more  comfortable;  and  the  attack  would  not 
be  dangerous.  We  should  dash  to  the  assault 
from  the  trench  dug  the  night  before,  at  a  mo- 
ment when  the  Boches  did  not  expect  it,  and 
there  would  be  so  little  ground  to  cover  that 
the  risk  would  not  be  great.  Besides,  it  was 
our  duty,  and  I  was  certain  my  poilus  would 
keep  the  promise  they  had  made  me  to  follow 
wherever  I  led. 

At  two  o'clock  the  whole  company  was  to 

59 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

take  its  place  in  the  new  trench;  at  2.10  we 
were  to  make  the  attack.  However,  things  did 
not  happen  according  to  schedule,  and  the 
Germans  gave  us  the  opportunity  to  take  their 
trench  almost  without  any  losses  on  our  own 
side,  but  with  many  losses  on  theirs. 

Toward  eleven  o'clock,  when  our  bombard- 
ment had  only  just  begun,  our  machine  guns 
began  to  clatter  and  likewise  all  the  guns  at 
the  loopholes.  The  Boches  were  attacking! 
They  had  a  hankering  after  the  trench  we  had 
dug  during  the  night,  and  wanted  to  launch 
an  assault  on  our  lines  from  that  point  —  the 
exact  thing  that  we  were  planning  to  do  to 
theirs.  They  came  on  in  full  force,  but  there 
was  time  for  the  machine  guns  to  mow  down 
numbers  of  them  before  the  first  ones  reached 
the  new  trench.  The  mud  kept  them  back, 
and  the  poor  wretches  made  a  tragic  struggle 
to  get  their  feet  loose  and  to  hurry.  Three  suc- 
cessive waves  started.  The  machine  gun  at 
the  end  of  our  trench  was  quickly  shifted,  and 
enfiladed  our  new  trench  full  of  Boches,  kill- 
ing nearly  all  of  them.  It  was  horrible  but 
magnificent.  But  others  were  coming  on. 
Then  I  commanded,  "  Fix  bayonets !  Forward  I 
60 


TAKING  A  GERMAN  TRENCH 

Forward!"  and  we  dashed  against  the  assail- 
ants. The  whole  company  followed  my  exam- 
ple and  rushed  forward.  Was  it  to  be  a  hand- 
to-hand  fight  ?  Our  murderous  grenades 
crushed  the  first  row,  and  in  the  face  of  our 
air  of  determination  the  others  hesitated,  then 
turned  tail.  We  threw  grenades  at  them  and 
fired  at  close  range.  We  kept  sticking  in  the 
mud  and  stumbling  over  bodies,  but  the  oppor- 
tunity was  too  good  to  be  lost.  We  followed 
them  home;  their  batteries  and  machine  guns 
could  not  fire  for  fear  of  hitting  their  own  men. 
They  had  no  sooner  reached  their  trenches 
than  we  were  at  their  heels,  stopping  just  long 
enough  to  shower  in  grenades  before  we  jumped 
in  after  them.  I  had  a  feeling  that  some  one 
was  aiming  at  me  and  I  emptied  my  revolver 
point-blank  into  the  head  of  an  Oberleutnant 
who  was  wearing  a  monocle.  I  did  this  auto- 
matically, by  reflex  action.  I  seized  another 
enemy  by  the  throat  and  struck  him  in  the 
face  with  the  butt  of  my  revolver.  He  fell  like 
lead.  But  the  hand-to-hand  fight  did  not  last 
long.  The  forty  soldiers  who  were  left  quickly 
surrendered. 

^' Quick!  Quick!"  I  commanded.  *' Reverse 
6i 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

the  trench!"  In  other  words,  pierce  several 
loopholes  and  turn  the  German  machine  guns 
against  their  own  trenches.  We  stopped  up 
the  communication  trench,  and  opened  up  the 
ones  toward  the  rear,  and  the  prisoners  filed 
through  my  former  trench,  which  was  once 
more  a  communication.  We  then  prepared  to 
ward  off  the  counter-attack.  Barbed  wire  was 
brought  and  securely  fastened.  The  Germans 
proceeded  to  treat  us  to  reprisal  fire,  which 
damaged  our  newly  conquered  trench  rather 
badly,  but  did  little  real  harm. 

I  lost  nine  men  in  all,  four  killed  and  five 
wounded.  The  Germans  had  been  neatly  out- 
witted. By  quarter-past  eleven  we  were  estab- 
lished in  our  new  positions.  These  events  had 
lasted  but  a  very  few  minutes  —  the  hand-to- 
hand  fight  just  long  enough  to  let  me  kill  two 
Germans. 

Nevertheless,  the  situation  was  none  too 
cheerful.  German  corpses  were  all  about.  Our 
grenades  had  done  their  work  well,  and  any 
wounded  were  drowned  in  the  mud  as  they 
fell.  As  we  walked,  the  bodies  sank  in  deeper, 
for  the  bottom  of  the  trench  was  literally 
covered  with  them,  forming  a  sort  of  carpet 
62 


TAKING  A  GERMAN  TRENCH 

under  our  feet.  In  spite  of  it  we  were  radi- 
ant. The  commander  expressed  his  satisfac- 
tion. The  counter-attack  might  come  at  any 
moment,  but  we  were  ready  for  anything;  as 
for  shells,  we  laughed  at  them.  Every  one 
gathered  trophies.  I  carried  off  the  revolver 
and  field-glass  of  my  Oberleutnantj  also  his 
notebook,  which  I  proposed  to  decipher  and 
hand  over  to  the  staff  officers. 

Night  fell  gradually.  The  air  was  very 
sharp,  and  it  began  to  rain  again.  We  all 
looked  like  Capuchin  friars  with  our  blankets 
v/rapped  around  us  and  our  tent-sheets  over 
our  heads.  No  one  could  sleep,  or  rather,  no 
one  was  allowed  to  sleep;  but  as  I  made  my 
way  with  great  difficulty  back  and  forth  in 
the  trench,  I  saw  several  men  asleep,  holding 
their  guns  at  the  loopholes.  In  order  to  keep 
them  awake  I  made  them  fire  salutes.  The 
bombardment  was  intense  all  night,  but  it 
was  directed  more  especially  against  our  sec- 
ond lines.  That  augured  a  counter-attack  for 
the  next  day.  At  midnight  word  was  sent 
that  we  should  be  reUeved  at  2  a.m.  Great 
rejoicing.  At  last  we  should  be  able  to  get 
some  sleep!  Quickly  we  folded  blankets  and 
63 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

tent-sheets,  but  we  had  a  long  wait  in  the 
rain  that  was  falling  and  under  the  shells 
that  were  dropping. 

It  was  not  until  daybreak  that  the  others 
came  to  relieve  us.  And  then  began  anew  the 
fight  with  the  mud.  It  took  us  nearly  two 
hours  to  reach  Perthes.  There  we  learned  that 
we  were  not  to  be  sent  to  recuperate,  but  were 
to  reinforce  the  third  line  in  the  fortified  dug- 
outs of  Hill  200.  Then  we  left  the  communi- 
cation trenches,  for  they  were  in  too  bad  a 
state,  and  walked  in  the  road,  almost  in  the 
open.  A  rather  high  parapet  protected  us  from 
bullets  and  from  being  seen  by  the  Germans, 
who  were  about  a  kilometre  to  the  north.  But 
we  had  to  march  bent  double,  alternately 
making  rapid  leaps  and  stopping.  Of  course, 
a  few  bullets  came  our  way,  but  the  Boches 
did  not  see  us  and  we  were  not  molested. 
Once  when  we  stopped,  I  saw  stretched  out 
in  the  road  beside  me  a  dead  soldier,  with  his 
pipe  still  in  his  mouth.  Evidently,  he  had  not 
suffered  much. 

After  five  hundred  metres  on  the  road  we 
had  to  go  into  the  communication  trench 
again;  that  is  to  say,  begin  to  flounder  through 
64 


TAKING  A  GERMAN  TRENCH 

the  mire.  A  big  German  shell  had  fallen  into 
the  trench  v/ithout  bursting,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  cUmb  over  it.  Dangerous  engines 
those,  that  a  mere  trifle  may  cause  to  explode. 
I  wonder  now  how  we  managed  to  keep  going 
for  another  hour,  for  it  seemed  at  every  step 
that  we  should  sink  in  our  tracks.  It  had  been 
impossible  to  send  up  rations,  and  we  had 
nothing  to  drink.  Some  of  the  men  suffered 
so  from  thirst  that  they  scooped  up  in  their 
hands  the  muddy  water  that  was  lying  stag- 
nant in  the  trench  and  quaffed  it  with  delight. 
I  had  a  flask  of  mint  and  I  drank  a  swallow 
that  refreshed  me  greatly.  We  were  so  tired 
at  the  last  that  we  could  neither  see  nor  feel, 
but  stumbled  on  with  our  eyes  shut,  some  of 
the  men  asleep  as  they  went.  At  last  we 
arrived. 

These  dug-outs  were  a  sort  of  cave  made  in 
the  side  of  the  hill,  large  galleries  well  propped 
up  with  planks  with  the  entrance  carefully 
protected  by  a  regular  rampart  of  bags  of 
sand.  The  minute  we  arrived  we  threw  our- 
selves down  and  slept  and  slept,  in  spite  of  the 
big  German  shells  that  were  bursting  with  a 
frightful  hubbub,  and  in  spite  of  a  French 
6S 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

battery  concealed  near  by  that  kept  up  an 
incessant  fire,  and  in  spite  of  our  consuming 
thirst.  We  did  n't  wake  up  until  the  commis- 
sary arrived,  bringing  letters  and  rations. 
Everybody  demanded  the  letters  first.  We 
were  in  such  sore  need  of  a  few  words  of  en- 
dearment, much  more  so  than  of  food!  I  got 
for  my  share  five  letters  which  I  read  hun- 
grily. I  also  got  a  package  of  eggs  my  little 
godmother  managed  to  send  me  from  Lor- 
raine, and  they  were  a  wonderful  feast,  sweet 
as  a  caress  of  the  one  who  sent  them. 

Then  we  ate,  and  went  to  sleep  again.  We 
cannot  be  entirely  brutish,  since  letters  bring 
us  such  joy.  We  have  killed  men,  under  pen- 
alty of  being  killed  ourselves,  and  also  because 
it  was  our  duty,  but  these  combats  took  place 
in  a  sort  of  frenzy,  the  frenzy  of  action,  of 
enthusiasm,  and  likewise  of  suffering.  I  have 
killed  two  Germans  and  I  am  proud  of  it,  and 
yet,  I  have  not  the  soul  of  an  assassin. 

At  eight  in  the  evening  the  major  received 
word  that  two  companies  were  to  be  sent  to 
the  trenches.  All  the  troops  were  jaded,  all 
had  labored  long  and  hard;  we  drew  lots  — 
Eleventh  and  Twelfth.  So  I  had  to  set  out 
66 


IN  THE  SECOND  LINE 

again.  I  went  to  rouse  my  men.  They  grum- 
bled a  little,  but  obeyed  philosophically, 
buckling  on  their  equipment  and  folding  their 
blankets.  At  nine  o'clock  we  set  out  to  trav- 
erse in  the  opposite  direction  the  ground  we 
had  come  over  in  the  morning:  trench,  road, 
trench,  village,  trench,  mud,  and  again  mud. 
It  was  impossible  to  maintain  distances.  One 
section  got  lost  and  had  to  turn  back;  then 
troops  were  met  coming  the  other  way,  the 
ditch  was  narrow,  and  it  was  slow  work 
squeezing  through. 

Order  was  once  more  established  as  we  came 
near  our  goal.  The  night  was  full  of  the  uproar 
of  a  battle.  Machine  guns  were  emitting  in 
the  distance  the  regular  cUck  of  a  sewing- 
machine,  while  the  little  guns  sounded  like 
the  sputtering  of  fish  in  a  frying-pan.  A  few 
bullets  whizzed  by.  I  heard  one  of  the  men  say, 
in  his  utter  weariness,  **I  hope  one  of  those 
bullets  is  for  me.''  I  chided  him  mildly,  but  it 
was  exhaustion  that  wrung  this  cry  from  him, 
for  the  day  before  at  the  moment  of  the  attack 
he  had  fought  with  the  bravest. 

We  arrived  at  an  empty  second-line  trench 
that  we  were  to  occupy,  and  defend  in  case  of 
67 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

need.  But  it  was  very  different  from  having 
the  enemy  right  before  us,  and  we  could  be 
comparatively  tranquil.  We  went  to  sleep 
sitting  in  the  mud,  or  in  the  dug-outs,  where 
the  brittle  earth  crumbled  and  fell  in  tiny 
frozen  pellets.  We  slept  the  rest  of  the  night 
and  spent  the  following  day  almost  without 
moving,  wearily  awaiting  the  moment  to 
depart.  We  were  disgustingly  dirty,  caked 
with  mud  from  head  to  foot.  We  scraped  the 
mud  off  our  hands  and  faces  with  our  knives; 
our  hair  was  converted  into  a  strange,  un- 
familiar substance  that  looked  as  if  it  would 
withstand  any  process  of  cleaning. 

A  few  shells  fell  among  us,  and  several  of 
the  men  were  wounded,  but  we  were  perfectly 
indifferent  and  did  n't  budge  when  the  explo- 
sions came.  The  marmites  were  not  honored 
by  us  with  the  slightest  attention.  Although 
we  were  physically  tired,  our  morale  was 
intact,  and  the  men  laughed  and  joked,  every 
one  recounting  the  deeds  of  prowess  he  had 
performed  at  the  time  of  the  attack.  Who  shall 
blame  us  if  we  were  a  little  boastful?  We  were 
tasting  the  satisfaction  of  work  well  done.  If 
the  Boches  had  chosen  that  moment  to  attack 
62^ 


RETURN  TO  THE  FIRST  LINE 

us,  they  would  have  had  a  warm  welcome. 
However,  they  did  n't  risk  it. 

Toward  eight  in  the  evening  orders  came 
that  we  were  to  be  relieved.  They  were 
greeted  with  a  satisfaction  not  unmixed,  for 
no  one  smiled  as  the  prospect  rose  before  him 
of  the  return  trip  through  those  communica- 
tion trenches.  Slowly,  with  many  difficulties, 
and  at  the  cost  of  great  efforts,  we  made  our 
way  once  more  through  the  mire.  We  were 
simple  automatons  with  very  Uttle  more 
notion  of  time  and  space  than  a  pendulum  on 
the  end  of  its  pivot. 

We  reached  Hill  i8i  and  solid  ground,  solid 
except  for  big  shell  holes  filled  with  water. 
A  number  of  the  men,  blind  with  fatigue, 
fell  into  them  and  had  to  be  pulled  out  with 
rifle  butts.  Shells  were  falling,  so  we  changed 
into  open  formation  to  march  the  five  hun- 
dred metres  that  separated  us  from  the 
kitchens.  Hot  coffee  awaited  us  there,  but 
we  could  not  stop  long  enough  to  drink  it,  as 
shells  were  coming  down  too  fast.  It  was 
not  until  some  distance  farther  on  when  the 
coffee  was  cold  that  we  were  able  to  refresh 
ourselves.  The  Germans  were  keeping  up  a 
69 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

continuous  bombardment  of  Cabane-Puits,  so 
that  we  could  not  stay  there,  but  had  to  go  to 
B.-Ie-Chateau,  twelve  kilometres  beyond. 

The  long  column  of  the  regiment  wound 
through  the  plain  four  hours  longer  with  nu- 
merous halts  and  untold  weariness.  The  knap- 
sacks that  we  had  picked  up  again  dragged 
heavily  on  our  shoulders.  From  time  to  time, 
exhausted  men  left  the  ranks  and  lay  down  in 
the  road,  falling  asleep  with  their  packs  on 
their  backs.  We  were  very  near  the  end  of  our 
tether  when  the  cock  on  the  steeple  appeared 
at  a  turn  of  the  road.  A  long  halt  was  made 
here,  and  the  stragglers  had  time  to  regain 
their  places  before  we  marched  into  the  vil- 
lage. Was  there  such  a  thing  as  being  able  to 
shoulder  arms  and  march  at  attention  in  our 
state  of  exhaustion? 

Yes  indeed,  and  it  was  sublime.  The  colo- 
nel, before  dismissing  us  to  recuperate, 
wished  to  have  us  file  before  our  flag,  our  be- 
loved flag,  blackened  and  torn  by  battles.  We 
had  earned  this  honor,  and  it  made  us  forget 
everything  else.  Every  man  of  all  the  mud- 
smeared  ranks  felt  that  his  very  soul  was 
wrapped  in  the  glory  of  that  sacred  emblem 
70 


PARADE  MARCH   BEFORE  THE  FLAG 

for  which  he  had  suffered  so  much  and  so  will- 
ingly. Now  as  a  supreme  reward,  while  we 
still  bore  upon  us  the  marks  of  duty  well  done, 
we  were  to  perform  in  the  presence  of  the  flag 
an  immense  and  joyous  act  of  faith  in  our 
native  land.  All  the  men  felt  the  solemnity  of 
the  moment;  and  to  the  ringing  notes  of  the 
farewell  hymn  that  tells  us  to  live  and  die  for 
our  Republic,  these  worn  and  footsore  men, 
so  covered  with  grime  as  to  have  scarcely  a 
human  semblance,  defiled  before  the  flag  and 
presented  arms  as  they  never  had  presented 
them  before.  And  when  I  saw  my  men  stand 
up  proud  and  straight  to  present  arms,  putting 
into  this  act  all  the  little  strength  that  was  in 
them,  and  when  it  came  my  turn  to  salute  our 
colors,  I  was  so  stirred  that  the  tears  rolled 
down  my  mud-stained  cheeks.  I  am  happy. 
I  give  thanks  for  all  I  have  suffered,  since  it 
has  won  for  me  the  joy  of  this  moment. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ENCAMPMENT  —  IN  THE  FOURTH  LINE  —  FATIGUE 
DUTY  —  VISIT  TO   THE  ARTILLERY 

And  then  we  went  off  duty.  I  was  determined 
to  be  clean  before  I  went  to  bed.  A  soldier  em- 
ployed at  the  bath-house  was  obliged  to  scrub 
me  all  over  with  a  stiff  brush.  Not  a  spot  on 
my  body  had  escaped  the  treacherous  mud. 
We  had  two  days  to  rest  and  clean  up  and 
put  our  clothing  and  arms  in  order.  The 
men  were  allowed  entire  freedom. 

My  billet  is  comfortable.  I  even  have  a  real 
bed  —  a  bed  with  sheets  —  that  I  share  with 
my  friend  H.  Joy  and  delight  to  be  able  to 
take  off  one's  clothes  and  crawl  into  bed  be- 
tween sheets  —  a  luxury  we  have  not  tasted 
for  a  month.  And  such  a  month! 

This  morning  there  was  drill.  Not  very 
interesting,  but  according  to  theory,  the  men 
must  not  be  left  idle.  I  suggested  that  we 
organize  games  and  the  idea  was  approved. 
Peace-time  manoeuvres  afford  little  amuse- 
ment to  men  who  are  just  back  from  the 
trenches. 

72 


IN  THE  FOURTH   LINE 

Our  mess  is  very  jolly.  We  officers  get  to- 
gether and  chat,  play  cards  or  have  music. 
I  often  go  and  play  the  little  organ  in  the 
church.  A  priest  who  is  on  the  hospital  nursing 
staff  has  asked  me  to  play  during  services.  I 
consented  with  great  pleasure.  There  is  a 
service  every  evening  which  many  soldiers 
attend.  They  sing  the  hymns  of  the  liturgy. 
I  accompany  and  I  amuse  myself  playing 
some  fugue  of  Bach  or  of  my  beloved  Cesar 
Franck.  The  organ  is  nothing  to  boast  of,  but 
I  get  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  out  of  it. 

March  i8.  We  start  to-night  for  Cabane- 
Puits  which  forms  the  fourth  line  of  our  posi- 
tions. We  are  not  to  go  to  the  trenches,  it 
seems,  but  will  remain  four  or  five  days  in 
reserve.  Furthermore,  we  shall  be  assigned 
fatigue  duty.   My  company  is  flag  escort. 

Evening,  We  left  B.-le-Chateau  toward 
noon.  The  ceremony  of  departure  was  beauti- 
ful. The  third  battalion  had  the  flag  and  my 
company  was  chosen  to  escort  it.  The  bat- 
talion formed  in  line  of  masses,  my  company 
being  posted  directly  in  front  of  the  coloneFs 
73 


DIARY  OF  A   FRENCH  OFFICER 

house.  At  noon,  bayonets  were  fixed,  and  at 
the  moment  the  flag  appeared  on  the  thresh- 
old the  band  and  the  buglers  saluted  and 
played  the  Marseillaise,  while  every  man 
presented  arms.  We  defiled  through  the  vil- 
lage with  the  flag  in  the  middle  of  the  com- 
pany, just  behind  my  section.  Then  the  flag 
was  folded  into  its  black  sheath,  and  we  began 
the  march. 

The  road  was  better,  much  better.  We  met 
a  regiment  coming  back  from  the  trenches, 
and  it  made  us  realize  what  we  ourselves  had 
looked  like  a  few  days  before. 

Cabane-Puits  is  very  curious  —  a  village  of 
primitive  tribesmen  made  up  of  half-buried 
huts  of  earth  and  branches.  These  dwellings 
are  very  comfortable,  however,  with  their  fire- 
places and  thick  beds  of  straw.  There  are  also 
dug-outs  for  each  section.  For  myself  I  have 
a  private  apartment  which  has  been  comfort- 
ably arranged  by  its  various  occupants.  There 
is  a  bed  made  of  woven  wire  hung  like  a  ham- 
mock about  twenty  inches  from  the  ground,  a 
rough  table,  shelves,  and  a  fireplace  of  big 
stones.  The  baggage-wagons  of  the  regiment 
have  come  with  us  up  to  this  point,  so  I  have 
74 


IN  THE  FOURTH   LINE 

my  chest  and  can  profit  by  my  books.  Rabe- 
lais and  Montaigne  have  promptly  been  given 
the  place  of  honor  on  the  shelves. 

There  is  a  shanty  for  everything  here.  The 
infirmary  is  very  well  installed;  the  offices  of 
the  various  companies  have  packing-boxes  for 
desks.  The  kitchens  are  in  the  open  air. 
Above  the  fires,  hanging  on  a  stick,  great  ket- 
tles boil  and  bubble  everlastingly.  We  had 
tea  this  evening,  but  sad  to  say,  there  was  n't 
enough  sugar.  Letters  come  through  with 
more  or  less  regularity.  I  have  made  friends 
with  the  baggage-master,  who  scolds  me  all 
the  time  for  being  one  of  those  who  give  him 
the  most  trouble;  for  I  have  a  correspondence 
of  almost  ministerial  dimensions. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  this  is  better  than  the 
trenches. 

March  19,  A  delicious  existence.  Weather 
fine.  Nothing  to  do.  I  read  a  little,  write  a 
little,  chat  a  great  deal  with  my  friend  H.  or 
with  the  abbe-infirmier,  sl  man  of  extraor- 
dinary intelligence  and  a  heart  of  gold. 
Last  evening  after  going  to  bed,  H.  and  I  lay 
awake  a  long  time  and  talked,  with  the  splen- 
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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

dor  of  the  spring  flooding  in  upon  us.  The 
cannon  in  the  distance  were  raging,  and  in 
spite  of  ourselves  we  rejoiced  in  our  compar- 
ative security.  *' Suave  mari  magno."^  Per- 
haps Lucretius  was  not  so  far  wrong.  But  this 
kind  of  selfishness  is  conceivable  when  one 
thinks  of  the  sufferings  of  the  week  just  past. 

March  20,  A  very  busy  night.  My  section 
was  detailed  to  clean  out  the  communication 
trenches  near  Perthes.  The  mud  had  dried 
and  filled  them  in  so  that  they  were  no  longer 
deep  enough. 

We  started  at  9  p.m.  along  Hill  181.  At  the 
entrance  to  the  trenches,  sheltered  behind  a 
hillock,  are  the  headquarters  of  the  com- 
mander of  the  sector,  and  likewise  a  tool- 
house.  Picks  and  shovels  were  piled  up  wait- 
ing for  us.  We  took  an  equal  number  of  each 
alternately,  and  proceeded  to  the  trenches. 
A  guide  showed  us  the  way.  They  were  in  a 
very  bad  state  from  the  point  of  view  of  pro- 
tection, but  oh,  so  easy  to  walk  in.  The  sector 

^  "  Sweet  it  is  when  the  winds  are  ruffling  the  mighty 
surface  of  the  deep  to  witness  the  grievous  peril  of  another 
from  the  shore." 

76 


IN  THE  FOURTH   LINE 

we  were  to  put  in  order  was  about  two  hun- 
dred metres  long.  With  the  aid  of  my  sergeants 
and  corporals,  I  measured  off  the  exact  space 
for  each  pair  of  men.  Every  one  set  to  work 
with  a  will,  and  at  the  end  of  two  hours  the 
job  was  finished.  Partly  to  keep  warm  and 
partly  to  set  the  example,  I  took  a  pick  and 
worked  here  and  there.  We  deepened  and 
broadened  the  trench  and  put  bomb-shields 
every  twenty-five  or  thirty  metres,  so  that  a 
bursting  shell  could  be  effective  only  on  a 
limited  area.  Moreover,  the  trench  was  wide 
at  the  bottom,  and  the  walls  were  near  enough 
at  the  top  to  give  less  purchase  to  shrapnel.  I 
had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  the  work 
had  been  done  rapidly  and  well.  At  i  a.m.  we 
arrived  at  quarters.  I  gave  the  men  a  swig 
of  brandy  to  warm  them  up,  and  we  all  turned 
in. 

An  enemy  aviator  was  brought  down  this 
morning.  He  ventured  near  our  lines  and  was 
subjected  to  a  lively  bombardment.  Swarms 
of  white  tufts  circled  and  unfolded  around  the 
'plane,  which  made  a  yellow  spot  in  the  lens  of 
my  field-glass.  Suddenly  I  saw  it  dip,  nose 
downward,  and  dart  like  an  arrow  to  the 

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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

ground.  Meanwhile  the  smoke  of  the  shell 
that  had  done  the  deed  spread  majestically 
through  the  sky  as  if  content  with  its  handi- 
work. The  aviator  fell  too  far  away  for  us  to 
go  and  see  him. 

The  Russians  have  taken  Przemysl.  The 
news  was  announced  in  this  morning's  bulle- 
tin. It  seems  the  booty  is  enormous.  To  cele- 
brate the  event  every  soldier  has  been  given 
an  extra  ration  of  wine. 

It  is  one  of  the  first  bits  of  war  news  we  have 
had.  We  are  narrowed  down  to  our  own  sec- 
tor, and  know  practically  nothing  of  what  is 
happening  outside.  Not  much  probably.  But 
surely  something  will  be  doing  before  long 
now.  Every  one  thinks  the  grand  offensive 
will  take  place  in  the  spring  —  the  decisive 
blow  that  will  pry  the  Germans  out  of  their 
holes  in  the  ground  and  bring  us  the  fight  in 
the  open  for  which  we  are  all  longing.  And 
then  —  victory! 

I  find  myself  yielding  to  the  charm  of  our 
life  here.  It  is,  indeed,  the  return  to  nature 
and  simpHcity;  it  is  almost  physical,  almost 
animal.  The  primitive  instincts  of  the  race 
have  full  sway  —  eating  —  drinking  —  sleep- 
78 


IN  THE  FOURTH   LINE 

ing — fighting — everything  but  loving.  Lack- 
ing this,  Rousseau  would  have  found  his  idyl 
complete.  But  however  much  we  are  sunk  in 
savagery,  memory  still  is  living.  As  well  ask 
the  spring  not  to  be  green  as  keep  one's 
thoughts  from  wandering  among  cherished 
images,  kept  fresh  by  almost  daily  letters. 
Beloved  little  godmothers,  precious  are  your 
letters  and  welcome  your  delicate  gifts  to  those 
who  fight.  We  are  glad  to  fight  for  you.  But 
at  times,  the  thought  of  you  makes  the  chains 
of  war  very  hard  to  bear. 

However,  I  am  determined  not  to  let  my 
mind  grow  rusty.  I  read  a  great  deal,  write 
quantities  of  letters,  and  I  have  two  or  three 
friends  with  whom  I  can  converse  intimately. 
What  is  more,  I  have  a  most  interesting  study 
in  psychology  always  close  at  hand  —  the 
study  of  my  poilus.  I  think  I  am  beginning  to 
know  them  better  and  to  be  their  friend;  they 
tell  me  their  secrets  and  their  adventures, 
their  little  family  affairs  and  their  love  affairs. 
Some  of  them  want  me  to  read  their  letters, 
or  show  me  photographs.  All  this  makes  it 
easier  to  approach  each  one  of  them  in  the 
right  way  to  make  him  do  his  best.    I  have 

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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

grown  very  fond  of  them,  for  they  are  fine  fel- 
lows; they  can  even  be  heroes  when  duty 
requires. 

I  passed  the  evening  out  of  doors,  lying 
sprawled  in  the  grass,  smoking  my  old  pipe, 
companion  of  all  my  adventures,  and  chatting 
with  my  friends.  The  sound  of  the  cannon 
was  scarcely  audible,  and  over  the  unrufiled 
air  came  whiffs  of  music.  We  recognized  the 
'^Russian  H3ann"  and  the  "Marseillaise'' 
and  "  God  Save  the  King."  It  was  a  regiment 
encamped  behind  us,  celebrating  the  fall  of 
Przemysl. 

It  is  late.  I  have  loitered  outside  in  the 
marvellous  night,  keeping  company  with  the 
spring.  The  air  is  laden  with  perfume  as  I 
write.  But  ^'Sat  prata  biberunL'^ 

March  21.  Sunday,  This  morning  mass  was 
said  in  the  open  air  behind  a  great  rock,  a 
soldier  priest  officiating.  Stones  served  as 
an  altar.  On  it  were  two  candles  without 
candlesticks  —  an  old-time  simplicity.  The 
gathering  was  large,  and  we  sang  canticles 
to  the  deep  accompaniment  of  the  distant 
caimon. 

80 


FATIGUE   DUTY 

Nothing  has  happened  to-day,  except  that 
a  few  prisoners  filed  by.  * 

This  evening  several  men  of  the  company 
go  on  fatigue  duty  to  carry  wire  and  shells  to 
the  trenches.  I  examined  the  shells.  They 
have  tiny  wings  and  are  fired  from  a  cannon 
in  the  trench  itself,  and  are  very  deadly,  it 
seems.   Our  poilus  call  them  *' cauliflowers." 

My  section  is  on  duty,  for  of  course  we  have 
to  take  turns  keeping  guard.  The  service  is 
very  simple.  Three  sentries  suffice,  one  near 
the  station  and  storehouses,  one  near  the 
colonel's  cabin  where  the  flag  is,  and  the  third 
near  the  carriages. 

March  22.  Another  uneventful  day.  The 
battalion  had  manoeuvres  in  the  woods.  If 
only  this  gives  promise  of  the  fight  in  the  open ! 
A  little  alarm  —  several  shells  fell  on  our  posi- 
tion. A  kitchen  was  destroyed  and  a  cook 
wounded.  It  is  very  unpleasant  to  be  bom- 
barded when  you  are  off  duty.  In  the  trenches, 
it  is  part  of  the  day's  work,  and  for  that  rea- 
son swallowed  down  cheerfully.  Besides,  the 
trench  is  a  protection,  but  in  encampment 
where,  by  the  very  definition  of  the  word, 
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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

one  has  a  right  to  feel  secure,  it  is  annoying* 
Those  Boches  have  no  manners. 

March  23.  Last  night  I  was  detailed  with 
half  my  section  to  bury  the  dead.  The  task 
was  not  a  pleasant  one,  but  it  was  accom- 
plished without  reluctance  or  hesitation.  Hav- 
ing to  do  the  work  at  night  made  it  a  shade 
more  lugubrious.  A  guide  conducted  us  to  a 
little  thicket  all  laid  bare  by  grapeshot,  south 
of  Perthes  and  about  three  kilometres  from 
the  first  lines.  There  was  no  moon,  and  it 
was  very  nearly  pitch  dark.  Trench  rockets 
streaked  the  sky  here  and  there,  and  from  the 
distance  came  the  crack  of  musketry.  Shells 
went  laboring  by  with  the  heavy  breathing  of 
wild  beasts  in  a  rage.  A  little  trench  was  made 
into  a  large  one  to  receive  the  bodies,  and  then 
we  set  out  in  search  of  them.  They  had  been 
lying  there  for  a  very  long  time,  and  it  was 
only  the  recent  advance  of  our  lines  that 
made  it  possible  to  bury  them.  With  some 
difficulty  we  managed  to  make  out  these  mo- 
tionless heaps  on  the  ground.  It  was  necessary 
to  search  the  pockets  and  take  out  papers, 
money,  etc.,  also  to  unfasten  the  identification 
82 


FATIGUE  DUTY 

badges  that  are  worn  on  the  arm  like  a  brace- 
let. It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  do.  In  this, 
also,  I  was  obliged  to  set  the  example.  I  had 
to  put  my  hand  into  the  pockets  of  a  foul  mass 
that  fell  to  pieces  at  a  touch.  I  found  nothing 
but  a  pocket-book  and  diary.  The  men  then 
took  courage  and  overcame  their  aversion. 
The  bodies  were  not  offensive  until  they  were 
disturbed,  but  the  least  jar  brought  forth  an 
odor  that  choked  you  and  took  you  by  the 
throat. 

Among  them  were  three  Germans.  They 
were  all  carried  in  a  tent-sheet  to  the  trench 
and  laid  side  by  side.  The  articles  found  on 
them  were  kept  carefully  in  separate  packets. 
Out  of  twenty-seven,  we  succeeded  in  identify- 
ing all  but  three. 

When  our  task  was  finished,  the  ahbe- 
infirmier,  who  had  accompanied  us  of  his  own 
accord,  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  grave  and 
said  a  blessing.  And  that  priest,  standing  out 
against  the  darkness,  lifting  his  voice  above 
the  noise  of  battle  in  a  last  solemn  duty  to 
those  pitiful  fragments,  was  truly  very  fine. 
Every  man  of  us,  whether  moved  by  religious 
conviction  or  not,  felt  the  impressiveness  of 
S3 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

the  moment,  and  knelt  to  hear  the  words  of 
forgiveness  and  of  life. 

This  evening  I  went  to  S.  S.  by  the  little 
train  to  have  the  death  certificates  made  out. 
The  tiny  mementoes  had  to  be  sent  to  the 
families  —  letters,  purses,  notebooks,  watches. 
On  one  of  the  bodies  was  a  letter  bearing  the 
inscription:  '^Will  the  person  who  finds  my 
body  have  the  kindness  to  send  this  letter, 
together  with  the  exact  description  of  my 
grave,  to  the  following  address.  ..."  I  took 
the  letter,  and  wrote  a  few  words  to  the  family. 
I  did  my  best  to  make  a  drawing  of  the  spot 
where  the  poor  fellow  was  buried,  and  told 
them  about  the  blessing  that  had  been  said 
over  his  grave.  And  into  the  same  envelope 
I  put  that  sacred  letter,  bloody,  smeared  with 
mud,  ill-smelling,  —  a  letter  from  the  dead. 

March  24,  An  artillery  officer  who  was  at 
the  village  with  me  yesterday  invited  me  to 
go  and  see  his  battery.  After  the  daily  muster 
of  the  company  I  started  out.  I  had  marked 
on  my  map  the  exact  position  of  the  battery 
and  found  it  without  diSiculty. 

The  captain  received  me  in  his  dug-out,  a 
84 


VISIT  TO  THE  ARTILLERY 

regular  palace  compared  to  the  squalid  quar- 
ters of  us  poor  infantrymen.  Twenty  feet 
under  ground,  well  supported  by  planks,  it 
contained  all  sorts  of  modern  comforts  —  a 
real  bed,  a  table,  chairs,  besides  a  quantity  of 
knick-knacks  that  indicated  a  prolonged  stay. 
Pinned  up  on  the  walls  were  the  delicious 
women  of  Fabiano,  of  Nam  and  of  Prejelan, 
taken  from  'Xa  Vie  Parisienne";  a  violin  was 
hanging  in  one  comer,  and  on  a  table  lay  the 
sonatas  of  Bach.  There  were  a  number  of 
little  objects  on  the  shelves  made  from  frag- 
ments of  shells.  My  host  gave  me  tea  in  china 
cups.  All  this  luxury  enchanted  me.  A  tele- 
phone on  the  table  connected  ^  the  dug-out 
with  the  battery,  the  first  line,  and  the  colo- 
nel's headquarters.  I  could  not  resist  asking 
him  to  play,  and  this  pupil  of  the  Polytechnic 
executed  for  me,  and  executed  well,  the  famous 
saraband. 

^^Now,  after  the  chamber-music,"  said  he, 
''I'm  going  to  let  you  hear  the  grand  orches- 
tra." And  he  conducted  me  to  his  battery. 
The  four  pieces,  all  draped  in  foliage  and  well 
covered  with  earth,  were  silent.  But  they 
remained  fixedly  aimed  at  their  invisible  ob- 
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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

jective,  a  trench  some  three  kilometres  ahead. 
Thanks  to  the  hydro-pneumatic  brake,  the 
75  does  not  need  to  be  re-aimed  after  firing.  To 
please  me,  the  captain  ordered  three  shells 
fired  from  each  piece.  I  even  fired  a  shot  my- 
self. Finally  I  saw  the  little  valve  that  has  only 
to  be  manipulated  in  a  certain  way  to  render 
the  piece  useless  in  case  it  falls  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy.  The  gunners  are  under  orders 
to  attend  to  this. 

I  took  leave,  with  many  thanks  to  my  host 
for  his  kindness.  I  was  gratified  to  have  pene- 
trated a  little  into  the  sumptuous  domain  of 
the  artillery. 

On  arriving  in  camp  I  learned  that  the  cap- 
tain had  sent  in  my  name  for  promotion  to  the 
rank  of  second  lieutenant,  because  of  what 
happened  last  week.  I  am  very  much  pleased. 

March  25.  This  morning  to  our  great  sur- 
prise we  were  told  to  return  to  S.  S.  We 
reached  there  toward  six  o'clock.  Same  quar- 
ters as  before.  I  noticed  in  passing  how  rapidly 
the  cemetery  has  been  growing  of  late. 

March  26,  Review  of  our  brigade  this  morn- 
86 


VISIT  TO  THE  ARTILLERY 

ing.  The  two  regiments  assembled  by  sections 
in  columns  of  four,  with  flags  and  music.  The 
general  passed  along  our  front  at  a  gallop. 
Then  we  defiled.  The  impression  of  strength 
is  immense  when  one  stands  in  the  midst  of 
all  these  glittering  bayonets  above  which  float 
the  bright  colors  of  our  flag —  the  wall  of  steel 
that  is  holding  back  the  enemy  and  will  crush 
him  when  the  hour  strikes.  With  it  all  comes 
the  consciousness  of  one's  own  r61e,  which  is 
humble  and  yet  great.  For  that  wall  of  steel 
is  made  of  glittering,  separate  points,  and  I 
am  one  of  them.  It  is  joy  untold  to  be  able  to 
say  to  one's  self,  **  All  my  struggles  and  all  my 
sufferings  count  for  something  in  the  great  ac- 
tion of  the  whole." 

The  general  then  went  along  by  the  different 
companies.  He  stopped  to  speak  to  me,  and 
told  me  that  from  to-day  I  shall  rank  in  the 
army  as  second  lieutenant. 

Naturally,  this  event  had  to  be  celebrated. 
I  treated  my  colleagues  to  champagne.  Just 
as  festivities  were  well  under  way,  orders  came 
to  start  at  once  for  the  trenches.  Here  is  the 
programme  for  the  next  few  days:  — 

Two  days  in  the  first  line. 
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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

Two  days  in  reserve,  Hill  i8i. 

Two  days  in  the  second  line. 

It  is  rumored  that  this  army  corps  is  to  be 
laid  off  a  whole  month  to  recuperate. 

Lots  of  rumors  float  about,  fantastic  and 
otherwise.  It's  what  they  call  *^ kitchen  gos- 
sip." But  this  one  is  perhaps  true.  Meanwhile 
we  are  buckling  on  our  things,  and  in  two 
hours,  off  we  go. 

I  am  going  to  write  to  all  my  people  to 
announce  my  promotion. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  THE  FRONT  LINES  —  THE  TRENCH  CANNON  — 
GAS  BOMBS  —  CAPTURE  OF  A  BOCHE  TRENCH  — 
GRENADES  —  HILL  l8l  —  IN  THE  SECOND  LINE 
—  OUR  LAST  DAYS  IN  CHAMPAGNE 

March  27.  I  am  writing  my  journal  in  a  big 
underground  shelter,  comfortably  stretched 
out  in  a  hammock  that  someone  has  rigged 
up  of  two  old  tent-sheets.  We  are  in  an  ugly 
sector,  and  are  using  the  mine  galleries  as 
dug-outs,  for  grenades  are  falling  thick  and 
fast. 

We  are  in  the  same  trench  as  the  enemy,  — 
next-door  neighbors  in  fact,  and  not  a  bit  civil. 
Nothing  but  a  barricade  of  bags  of  earth  sepa- 
rates us  from  the  Boches.  Near  the  barricade 
stand  the  sentries,  attentive  and  silent.  No 
sound  is  heard  on  either  side  except  for  the 
whizzing  of  grenades  that  are  continually 
being  tossed  back  and  forth.  But  the  sentries 
are  well  protected  in  the  sides  of  the  trench, 
like  saints  in  niches,  and  they  defy  the  Ger- 
man "turtles." 

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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

The  first  German  and  French  lines  are  in 
immediate  contact.  The  reason  is  that  our 
side  has  not  been  able  to  seize  the  whole  of  the 
trench,  of  which  the  enemy  still  occupies  the 
eastern  end.  But  this  situation  will  not  last, 
I  think,  and  we  shall  increase  our  gains. 

The  trench  is  clean,  except  for  bodies  im- 
perfectly buried  here  and  there.  We  no  longer 
pay  any  attention  to  them,  but  the  really 
deplorable  thing  is  that  many  corpses  fell  in 
the  mud,  the  mud  has  hardened,  and  the 
trench  is  less  than  five  feet  deep.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  make  it  deeper,  for  the  least  stroke  of  a 
pick  brings  up  a  piece  of  cloth  or  a  bit  of  flesh. 
To  move  about,  we  have  to  bend  like  hunch- 
backs. It  is  both  painful  and  dangerous,  so 
the  men  don't  move  around  much  but  stay  in 
the  shelters. 

There  is  something  very  amusing  here  —  a 
trench  cannon,  a  little  one  such  as  people  fire 
during  popular  celebrations.  You  put  powder 
in  it,  then  a  77  shell  (German  projectiles  that 
get  sent  back  to  them),  then  a  fuse  that  is 
lighted  with  a  tinder  —  noise  —  smoke  —  the 
shell  goes  off  in  one  direction,  the  cannon  in  the 
other.  The  little  fiend  ought  to  take  lessons  of 
90 


THE  TRENCH  CANNON 

the  7S's  to  cure  it  of  going  on  its  dance  after 
each  shot.  But  there  is  plenty  of  time  to  re- 
aim,  and  a  man  especially  detailed  for  the 
work  takes  charge  of  it.  Of  course,  I  could  n't 
resist  firing  it  a  few  times.  The  pedestal  is 
gruesome.  It  is  a  corpse,  a  body  well  encased 
in  mud,  except  that  the  feet  are  sticking  out. 
It  is  a  Boche.  The  soles  of  his  shoes  are  shod 
with  iron  just  like  horseshoes.  This  fact  has 
caused  a  good  deal  of  merriment.  The  shells 
are  sent  to  the  trenches  over  opposite.  For 
the  German  trench  at  our  side  we  use  hand 
grenades,  and  not  stingily  either.  They  too, 
of  course,  are  making  the  best  of  their  oppor- 
tunities, though  up  to  now  we  have  no 
wounded.  But  we  have  had  some  unpleasant 
escapes  from  being  overcome  by  gas.  The 
Germans  vary  the  monotony  of  the  missiles 
that  come  over  the  barricade  by  sending  gas 
bombs.  These  bombs  in  bursting  emit  an 
acrid  smoke  that  smells  of  sulphur  and  fills 
the  whole  trench.  We  discovered  that  we 
could  ward  off  the  worst  of  the  danger  by 
putting  handkerchiefs  before  our  mouths. 
When  these  bombs  burst  against  the  wall  of 
the  trench,  they  leave  a  yellow  splotch. 

91 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

I  remain  quiet  very  little  in  the  trench.  I 
have  a  horror  of  inactivity,  and  I  don't  seem 
to  want  to  read,  so  I  wander  back  and  forth 
a  good  deal  from  one  end  of  my  sector  to  the 
other,  keeping  an  eye  on  everything. 

A  little  while  ago  one  of  my  poilus  came  to 
me  and  said:  "I  think,  Lieutenant,  the  Boches 
are  busy  mining  our  trench."  I  listened  but 
heard  nothing.  Then  I  went  into  his  shelter 
and  I  did,  for  a  fact,  hear  muffled  blows,  struck 
regularly.  Evidently  they  were  working  under- 
neath us.  It  is  very  disagreeable  when  you  are 
already  underground  to  feel  this  hidden,  slow 
work,  impossible  to  prevent,  that  may  blow 
you  up  at  any  minute.  And  the  tiresome  part 
of  it  is  that  since  that  moment,  every  one  is 
convinced  that  he  hears  the  strokes  that  are 
digging  the  abyss  underneath  him.  Such  is 
the  power  of  imagination,  O  Pascal.  But  the 
captain  was  notified  and  telephoned  in  turn 
to  headquarters.  An  ofl&cer  of  the  engineering 
corps  came  and  listened  with  a  microphone, 
and  said  we  were  in  no  danger;  in  the  trench 
beside  us  a  French  mine  gallery  has  already 
been  pierced  underneath  that  mine.  In  front 
of  all  the  network  of  trenches  there  are  under- 

92 


GAS   BOMBS 

ground  listening-posts  where  the  sappers  lis- 
ten with  their  microphones  and  register  the 
least  sound.  This  oflScer  told  me  that  two  days 
before  he  had  blown  up  a  Boche  mine.  In 
order  to  do  that,  the  exact  location  of  the 
enemy's  gallery  must  be  ascertained,  then  a 
hole  is  bored  toward  it  with  a  drill  similar  to 
the  one  used  in  boring  wells.  When  the  right 
spot  is  reached,  it  is  packed  and  blown  up 
with  a  bickford.  The  explosion  chamber  of 
the  German  mine  goes  into  the  air  along  with 
its  inhabitants.  The  same  fate  awaits  the 
mine  we  have  been  worrying  about.  In  mine 
warfare,  the  essential  thing  in  the  conflict  is 
just  the  opposite  of  the  war  in  the  air.  where 
it  is  a  question  of  getting  above  the  enemy 
aviator.  The  counter-mine,  on  the  contrary, 
must  go  beneath  the  enemy  mine;  when  it 
reaches  it  at  the  same  height,  they  blow  it  up. 
It  sometimes  happens  that  the  miners  sud- 
denly find  themselves  face  to  face  with  the  en- 
emy. Then  they  kill  one  another  as  best  they 
can,  with  hammers  if  they  have  no  revolvers. 
It  IS  not  very  edifying,  this  kind  of  warfare. 
I  am  going  to  console  myself  by  inviting  my 
sergeants  to  tea. 

93 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

For  the  fun  of  it,  I  have  concocted  a  letter 
and  thrown  it  into  the  Boche  trench  beside  us. 
In  my  most  polite  German  I  invited  those 
who  were  tired  of  waging  war  to  come  and 
surrender.  They  would  be  well  treated  by  the 
French.  They  would  simply  need  to  present 
themselves,  unarmed,  in  front  of  the  barricade 
of  bags  of  earth  and  whistle  the  first  measures 
of  a  tune  known  to  all  Germans,  ^^Ich  haW 
einen  Kameraden,^^  In  a  little  while  the  sentry 
brought  me  a  paper.  It  was  the  answer.  Here 
is  the  translation:  "We  shall  be  relieved  to- 
night about  one  o'clock.  We  will  take  advan- 
tage of  the  confusion  to  come,  three  of  us  to- 
gether, and  surrender.  At  midnight  we  shall 
be  on  sentry  duty  near  the  barricade.  We 
count  on  your  promise  to  treat  us  well."  I 
carried  this  paper  to  the  captain  and  trans- 
lated it  to  him.  The  information  as  to  chang- 
ing troops  was  interesting;  he  is  going  to 
telephone  it  to  headquarters. 

March  28.  What  a  riotous  night!   And  by 
the  same  token,  what  a  good  piece  of  work  we 
did !   We  took  all  the  trench  beside  us,  about 
fifty  metres,  and  a  machine  gun. 
94 


CAPTURE  OF  A  BOCHE  TRENCH 

The  first  part  of  the  night  was  uneventful, 
except  for  an  abominable  shower  of  grenades 
the  Boches  kept  basting  at  us.  Three  of  my 
men  were  wounded,  slightly,  I  think,  for  they 
were  able  to  walk  to  the  dressing-station. 
About  half-past  ten  the  captain  came  to  look 
over  the  situation,  and  I  suggested  that  it 
might  be  a  good  idea  to  attack  the  trench  at 
the  moment  they  were  changing.  The  various 
possibilities  were  considered,  and  finally  my 
superior  officer  told  me  to  do  as  I  saw  fit, 
leaving  me  the  entire  initiative  in  the  matter. 
All  I  asked  of  him  was  to  forbid  the  second 
line  to  fire.  I  sent  for  my  friend  H.  and  en- 
trusted to  him  the  command  of  my  section 
after  carefully  discussing  the  various  contin- 
gencies. The  most  devoted  and  intelligent  of 
my  corporals  was  to  go  with  me,  and  I  called 
for  volunteers  from  the  squads  to  help  in 
an  undertaking  that  might  prove  dangerous. 
Almost  all  the  men  offered.  I  chose  six,  who 
armed  themselves  with  their  bayonets,  and 
took  ten  grenades  apiece.  Then  I  went  to  the 
barricade  and,  with  the  aid  of  a  periscope  and 
trench  rockets,  was  able  to  get  an  exact  idea 
of  the  German  trench.  One  thing  bothered 
95 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

me  —  a  machine  gun  placed  not  far  from  us. 
I  ordered  a  score  or  so  of  grenades  thrown  at 
it.  Men  were  hit,  but  the  gun  seemed  intact. 
Shortly  after  eleven  o'clock  I  heard  them 
whistling  the  popular  air  of  the  Uhlans.  I 
whistled  it  in  turn,  when  presently  three  great 
gawks  appeared  on  the  barricade  with  their 
arms  raised  above  their  heads,  and  jumped 
into  our  trench.  I  put  them  under  strong 
guard  and  questioned  them.  It  seems  their 
comrades  were  leaving  at  that  very  moment; 
they  were  being  sent  away  before  the  arrival 
of  the  other  troops.  These  three  had  man- 
aged to  be  put  on  sentry  duty  and  at  that 
moment  no  one  was  guarding  the  entrance  to 
the  trench.  For  a  second  the  idea  flashed 
through  my  head  that  this  was  a  trap,  and  I 
threatened  to  have  them  shot  if  they  were 
lying.  But  I  went  to  the  barricade  and  saw 
that  the  trench  was  for  a  fact  empty,  except 
for  the  machine  gunners  who  were  on  duty 
beside  their  gun.  I  quickly  gave  orders  to  tear 
down  the  barricade  and  we  ran  into  the  Boche 
trench.  The  men  of  my  section,  according  to 
my  instructions,  set  up  a  furious  fire  in  order 
to  distract  the  attention  of  the  enemy  from 
96 


GRENADES 

the  sector  we  were  trying  to  take.  As  we  ran, 
we  threw  grenades  at  the  machine  gunners, 
who  sank  down  before  being  able  to  turn 
their  guns  against  us.  In  a  twinkling  we 
reached  the  end  of  the  trench,  intersected  at 
right  angles  by  a  communication  trench.  A 
few  grenades  went  after  the  last  Boches  who 
were  going  off  to  recuperate.  Like  lightning 
we  piled  up  four  or  five  bodies  and  rolled  down 
several  bags  of  earth  from  the  parapet,  brought 
up  the  machine  gun,  and  from  behind  the  bar- 
ricade of  dead  men  and  earth  fired  three 
rounds  into  the  retreating  Germans.  They 
were  thrown  into  a  panic.  A  good  many  must 
have  been  killed,  for  daylight  disclosed  to  our 
gaze  that  trench  piled  with  dead.  The  whole 
thing  had  not  lasted  more  than  two  minutes. 
We  were  deluged  with  grenades,  a  continuous 
zip,  zip;  one  of  our  men  was  killed,  three  or 
four  wounded.  Everything  was  in  a  wild 
tumult,  —  trench  rockets  going  up,  guns  fir- 
ing at  the  double-quick,  a  hasty  report  to  the 
captain  who  came  to  shake  hands  with  me. 
Barbed  wire  was  rushed  into  place,  and  the 
trench  reversed  —  minutes  of  mad  excitement 
and  insane  activity.  We  were  without  con- 
97 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

sciousness  of  danger,  hypnotized  by  the  work 
to  be  done. 

We  expected  a  counter-attack,  but  the  Ger- 
man machine  gun  we  had  put  at  the  entrance 
to  the  communication  trench  defended  it  too 
well  for  a  Boche  to  be  able  to  venture  in  that 
direction.  Toward  the  trench  opposite  all  the 
soldiers  had  their  loopholes  and  were  on  the 
watch  ready  to  fire. 

We  waited.  There  were  false  alarms.  A 
man  who  is  a  little  nervous  begins  to  fire 
rapidly,  his  neighbor  follows  his  example,  then 
the  squad,  then  the  section,  then  the  whole 
company  gets  on  the  rampage.  The  machine 
guns  begin  to  clatter,  the  second-line  troops 
take  alarm,  the  artillery  steps  in  with  a  few 
shells  and  —  the  Boches  over  opposite,  bewil- 
dered by  the  hubbub,  send  up  into  the  sky 
large  interrogation  points  in  the  shape  of 
trench  rockets,  whose  rays  illumine  the  grass 
growing  green  in  the  spring,  the  tangle  of  wire 
and  several  poor  dead  bodies  lying  with  hands 
outstretched  toward  the  opposite  trench,  as  if 
pointing  the  path  of  duty  to  the  ones  behind. 

The  counter-attack  did  not  come,  but  shells 
upon  shells  were  rained  upon  us.   I  gave  my 
98 


HILL   i8i 

canteen  of  wine  to  my  prisoners,  for,  after  all, 
they  were  somewhat  to  be  thanked  for  our 
success.  It  is  nothing  at  all,  fifty  metres  of 
trench,  and  yet,  it  is  a  few  feet  of  France  won 
back  again. 

I  received  my  reward;  two  packages  and 
five  letters.  In  one  of  the  packages  was  a  big 
April  Fool's  day  fish  made  of  chocolate,  all 
stuffed  with  candy.  I  divided  the  candy  among 
my  men,  by  way  of  thanks  for  their  splendid 
conduct,  and  then  I  feasted  on  the  letters. 
Oh,  the  comfort  of  letters  and  words  of  affec- 
tion that  come  to  find  us  out  in  the  midst  of 
our  barbarous  days! 

March  zg.  Hill  i8i,  in  reserve.  Shelters 
deep  underground.  From  the  northern  crest  of 
this  hill  can  be  seen  the  whole  system  of 
trenches,  both  French  and  German,  in  the 
basin  of  Perthes.  I  posted  myself  with  my 
field-glass  between  two  clumps  of  bushes:  a 
maze  of  white  lines,  much  twisted  and  tangled; 
from  time  to  time  rise  blackish  clouds.  The 
ruins  of  Perthes  become  every  day  more 
mournful.  I  was  driven  from  my  post  by  shells. 

Every  hour,  exactly  and  methodically,  two 
99 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

batteries  fire  their  twelve  shells.  Forewarned, 
forearmed.  When  the  moment  is  past,  there 
is  nothing  more  to  fear  for  one  hour.  Unfor- 
tunately, one  of  the  lieutenants  was  killed  by 
a  shell  that  was  so  very  unmindful  of  usage 
as  to  seek  him  in  his  dug-out. 

I  had  the  honor  this  morning  to  be  shaved 
under  fire.  The  barber  of  the  company  was 
busy  relieving  me  of  a  two  days'  growth  of 
beard  when  shells  began  to  fall  not  far  from  us. 
"Go  on,"  I  cried;  and  though  my  barber's 
hand  shook,  he  cut  oiff  neither  my  nose  nor 
my  ears. 

I  have  discovered  a  stove  with  some  stove- 
pipe. The  infirmary  did  n't  want  it,  and  sim- 
ply threw  it  away.  I  had  it  set  up  in  my  dug- 
out where  the  air  is  decidedly  chilly.  With  the 
pine  boughs  from  the  woods  roundabout  which 
my  orderly  stuffs  in,  it  keeps  me  warm  and 
enables  me  to  make  some  good  chocolate. 

It  is  cold.  To-night  we  shall  have  to  go  to 
the  first  line  to  take  planks  and  wire.  But 
what  a  good  cup  of  tea  I  shall  have  when  I 
come  back! 

March  30,  Last  night  a  blizzard  came  down 
100 


HILL    i8V     I        : 

upon  us.  It  was  doubtless  due  to  the  violent 
displacement  of  air  caused  by  the  terrible 
bombardment  that  never  for  a  moment  ceases. 

I  came  in  late  —  about  three  o'clock.  We 
had  to  do  a  lot  of  trotting  about;  the  communi- 
cation trenches  took  up  the  snow  and  were 
beginning  to  be  muddy  again.  Oh,  this  abom- 
inable Champagne  mud! 

To-day  we  were  bombarded  even  more  than 
usual.  Several  men  imprudently  went  to  walk 
in  full  view  of  the  enemy.  Naturally  shells 
came  after  them,  so  now  the  men  are  forbidden 
to  go  out  of  the  shelters. 

I  slept  all  the  morning  in  front  of  my  snor- 
ing little  stove.  Played  cards  this  evening.  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  rapidly  sinking  to  the  level  of 
the  brute.  For  variety  we  go  to  the  trenches 
to-night. 

March  31.  Our  last  days  in  Champagne.  It 
seems  we  are  to  be  laid  off  to  recuperate  and 
will  change  sectors  afterward.  One  would  say 
that  before  we  go  the  authorities  want  us  to 
become  profoundly  familiar  with  the  land- 
scape of  this  desolate  region.  We  are  in  the 
second  line,  and  in  front  of  us  stretches  the 

lOI 


QiARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

panorama  of  all  the  trenches  we  have  held, 
beginning  with  Hill  i8i.  The  weather  is  clear. 
The  snow  did  not  last.  We  can  see  the  woods, 
stripped  bare  by  shells,  as  well  as  the  whole 
labyrinth  of  trenches  and  communications, 
then  the  ruins  of  the  stricken  village  of 
Perthes.  With  my  glass  I  can  make  out  the 
first  trench  I  occupied.  I  recognize  it  from 
certain  little  details,  but  we  have  gone  a 
long  way  ahead  since  then,  more  than  a  kilo- 
metre. 

Day  comparatively  calm.  Nothing  to  do 
except  be  ready  to  sustain  a  possible  attack. 
We  sleep,  read,  or  play  cards. 

The  Boches  are  still  bombarding  Perthes 
and  Hill  i8i.  The  big  marmites  send  up  into 
the  night  splendid  luminous  volcanoes,  or  else 
burst  above  the  trenches  in  clouds  that  whirl 
off  down  the  wind.  The  curious  thing  is  that 
you  see  the  explosion  long  before  you  hear 
it,  and  the  hiss  of  the  bomb  sounds  directly 
overhead  at  the  very  moment  when  it  is 
bursting  in  the  distance.  I  had  to  explain 
this  phenomenon  to  my  men,  whose  knowl- 
edge of  acoustics  is  not  very  extensive. 

I  have  just  witnessed  a  magnificent  and 

102 


IN  THE  SECOND  LINE 

terrible  sight  —  a  German  attack  in  close  for- 
mation crushed  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
tell  it.  To  the  east,  in  the  direction  of  Beause- 
jour,  was  an  intense  bombardment;  then 
through  my  glass  I  could  see  gray  masses 
emerge,  gesticulating  and  densely  crowded 
together.  This  attack  was  caught  between 
two  curtains  of  fire.  The  raging  75's  hurled  a 
curtain  of  fire  in  front  of  them,  keeping  them 
from  advancing,  and  one  behind  them  that 
made  it  impossible  for  them  to  get  back  to 
their  trenches.  They  were  wiped  out  to  the 
very  last  man.  There  was  a  mad  dance  in  the 
air  of  scattered  limbs,  mingled  with  clouds  of 
dirt  and  smoke.  The  incredible  part  of  it  is 
that  nothing  was  left  on  the  ground,  or  next 
to  nothing.  It  was  as  if  the  bodies  of  those 
men  had  been  volatilized  and  made  one  with 
the  air.  We  were  transfixed  with  horror  and 
filled  with  rapturous  hope.  May  the  fight  in 
the  open  be  not  delayed !  Our  7s's  will  quickly 
give  us  the  victory. 

Eoly  Thursday,    Our  aviators  are  floating 
gracefully  about  in  the  twilight  —  a  twilight 
divinely  cahn.   It  is  Holy  Week.   The  strains 
103 


DIARY  OF  A   FRENCH  OFFICER 

of  the  great  Johann  Sebastian  and  of  '^Parsi- 
fal" keep  running  through  my  head. 

Orders  have  come.  We  are  to  be  relieved 
this  evening.  We  are  going  to  recuperate  and 
then,  they  say,  to  Alsace.  I  shall  be  so  happy 
to  have  a  chance  to  fight  on  the  soil  we  have 
won  back. 

This  is  our  last  day  in  Champagne.  I  am 
leaving  without  regret  this  land  of  desola- 
tion where  I  have  known  difl&cult  hours  and 
a  few  splendid  moments.  What  tried  me  most 
sorely  was  this  mole-like  existence,  I  who  am 
always  longing  for  large  action  and  open  and 
intense  fighting  with  an  enemy  who  is  before 
your  eyes. 

The  Boches  have  been  bombarding  rather 
violently.  That  is  to  be  expected  since  it  is 
Holy  Thursday.  But  in  spite  of  everything, 
there  has  been  something  religious  in  the  calm 
of  the  elements  these  latter  days.  Nature  is 
at  her  devotions.  This  evening  is  superb. 
Shells  are  bursting  in  great  numbers,  and  the 
little  church  of  Perthes  totters  as  if  it  were 
about  to  fall.  Through  the  loopholes  comes  the 
mew  of  spent  bullets,  but  these  noises  disturb 
but  little  the  heavenly  serenity  of  the  twiiight. 
104  .  i 


OUR  LAST  DAYS   IN  CHAMPAGNE 

Larks  are  singing,  full-throated,  a  sublime 
paean  of  life  and  joy.  In  the  distance  lie  the 
dead,  and  the  frightful,  mangled  corpse  of  the 
village  of  Perthes. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  MONTH  AWAY  FROM  THE  TRENCHES 

(For  a  month  our  life  is  spent  in  marches  and 
more  or  less  prolonged  stays  in  various  en- 
campments in  the  region  of  the  Meuse  —  a 
calm  existence,  without  many  events  of  in- 
terest. My  journal  relates  only  a  few  scat- 
tered incidents.) 

April  J.  First  stage.  Left  Cabane-Puits  this 
morning  at  three,  and  reached  here  at  eight. 

Little  village  partly  destroyed  by  the 
Boches,  barbarously,  when  they  were  obliged 
to  fall  back  at  the  time  of  the  battle  of  the 
Marne.  I  am  billeted  in  the  house  of  a  peasant 
woman  who  has  told  us  many  tales  of  their 
atrocities.  The  church  is  in  ruins.  It  seems 
they  locked  up  in  it  a  very  old  grandmother 
and  then  set  fire  to  it.  A  striking  thing  in  the 
midst  of  the  ruins  of  this  church  is  a  statue, 
still  standing,  —  the  only  one,  —  a  statue  of 
Joan  of  Arc  made  of  plaster,  her  sword  broken, 
her  face  blackened  with  smoke,  her  banner 
1 06 


A   MONTH   IN   RESERVE 

half  gone,  but  proud  and  erect,  truly  a  stirring 
sight.  What  a  fine  subject  for  an  article  for 
Maurice  Barres!  That  virgin  symbolizing  our 
will  to  conquer,  France  wounded  and  bleed- 
ing, but  still  valiant  and  undaunted  and  full  of 
faith.  I  am  told  the  statue  of  Joan  of  Arc  at 
the  entrance  to  the  Cathedral  of  Rheims  has 
not  been  touched  by  shells  either.  It  is  as  if 
the  soul  of  our  country,  incarnated  in  our 
superb  heroine,  wished  to  manifest  itself  thus 
to  its  defenders. 

There  is  a  rumor  that  we  shall  go  to  the 
Dardanelles.  What  luck  that  would  be!  Per- 
haps I  could  rejoin  my  brother  who  enlisted 
at  eighteen  and  has  just  started  with  the 
expeditionary  force. 

April  6.  We  have  been  on  the  march  for 
three  days.  I  cannot  quite  make  out  the  rea- 
son for  all  this  marching.  Certainly  we  are 
not  on  the  way  to  fight,  for  then  we  should 
go  by  rail.  It  is  n't  rest,  either,  thirty  kilo- 
metres a  day  of  rather  hard  marching.  And 
then  we  march  in  broad  daylight.  Perhaps  it  is 
to  throw  the  enemy  off  the  scent  and  simulate 
extensive  shifting  of  troops. 
107 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

We  have  crossed  the  rich  pasture  lands  of 
the  Argonne  and  the  deep^  thick  forests  to  the 
north  of  which  the  fighting  is  in  progress.  The 
sight  of  all  this  wonderful  vegetation  has  sud- 
denly made  me  realize  that  spring  is^here.  The 
desolation  of  Champagne  —  a  real  desert, 
with  a  few  clumps  of  mutilated  pines  —  had 
given  scarcely  a  hint  of  its  coming.  Here  there 
are  perfumes  and  flowers,  gayety,  pleasant 
sunshine,  birds.  But  not  everything  is  gay. 
We  have  come  through  many  a  wrecked  and 
desecrated  village  —  one  especially  in  which 
not  a  single  house  was  left  standing.  It  hap- 
pened that  a  sort  of  wooden  shed  just  outside 
the  village  hid  the  ruins.  The  band  was 
marching  with  our  battalion  that  day.  The 
band-master,  as  usual,  had  them  play  a  march, 
and  we  prepared  to  file  into  the  village  at 
attention.  Then,  in  our  proudest  trim,  with 
clarions  and  flourish  of  trumpets,  we  entered 
suddenly  upon  a  blackened,  blasted  street 
between  two  long  heaps  of  rubbish,  —  not  a 
house,  not  a  living  soul,  only  chaos  and  empti- 
ness. A  strange  contrast  —  that  sparkling 
music  with  those  ruins.  But  was  not  this  also 
an  act  of  faith  —  a  promise? 
io8 


A  MONTH   IN   RESERVE 

As  a  rule  we  set  out  about  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing and  at  one  o'clock  make  a  long  halt.  A 
rolling  kitchen  for  each  compdny  has  been 
included  in  our  regimental  train  since  our  de- 
parture from  the  trenches.  When  we  arrive, 
generally  rather  tired,  we  have  hot  coffee  and 
soup.  In  the  evening  on  reaching  encampment 
we  salute  the  flag  and  every  one  gets  settled 
in  his  quarters.  Villages  in  ruins  for  the  most 
part.  There  has  been  no  fighting  here,  but, 
when  they  left,  the  Germans  set  fire  to  things 
everywhere. 

At  B.-sur-A.  is  a  marvellous  Gothic  church 
in  the  purest  style  very  nearly  wrecked.  Oh, 
destroyers  of  cathedrals!  It  brings  freshly  to 
my  mind  the  great  grief  I  felt  on  learning  of 
the  burning  of  Notre  Dame  de  Rheims.  Since 
that  moment  I  have  sworn  hatred  to  the  Ger- 
mans. To  kill  men  is,  after  all,  the  business  of 
war  and  it  can  be  explained,  even  if  it  cannot 
be  excused.  But  to  try  to  kill  the  soul  of  a 
whole  epoch,  the  sublime  and  imposing  spirit 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  which  had  put  into  its 
cathedrals  all  its  faith,  all  its  aspirations,  all 
its  life!  —  The  Germans  are  jealous  of  the 
splendor  of  our  country,  and  they  who  have 
109 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

raised  their  Gothic  monuments  only  in  the 
school  of  France  —  for  Gothic  was  bom  in 
the  lie  de  France  —  they  who  have  had  the 
wit  only  to  imitate  are  determined  to  be  first 
and  foremost  in  the  art  of  destruction.  And 
they  know  very  well  that  the  French  will  not 
make  reprisals  and  that  Nuremberg  and  the 
Wartburg  will  still  be  standing  after  our 
victory. 

April  p.  On  the  banks  of  the  Meuse  be- 
tween Verdun  and  Saint-Mihiel. 

The  taking  of  Eparges  has  just  been  an- 
nounced to  us.  It  is  a  great  success,  and  great 
in  consequences  I  think.  We  have  been 
brought  here  as  an  army  of  reinforcements  to 
be  used  in  case  of  need.  But  our  comrades 
took  the  mountain  without  us. 

We  rest,  we  exercise  mildly.  I  have  been 
boating  a  little  on  the  Meuse.  At  night  I  like 
to  climb  the  heights  above  the  village,  where 
one  can  see  the  search-lights  of  Verdun  sweep- 
ing the  sky. 

I  play  a  while  at  the  church  every  day.  The 
band  of  our  regiment  gives  a  daily  concert  at 
four. 

no 


A  MONTH   IN   RESERVE 

Much  bustle  and  stir.  Endless  convoys  pass; 
Boche  'planes  come  along  from  time  to  time 
and  are  driven  off  by  our  artillery. 

April  14.  We  are  kept  continually  on  the 
move.   Now  we  are  headed  south. 

A  splendid  ceremony  yesterday  —  the  deco- 
ration of  our  flag.  Our  regiment  received  the 
Croix  d^Honneur  for  its  conduct  in  Cham- 
pagne. 

The  whole  army  corps  was  massed  in  a  vast 
area  of  untilled  fields.  Bluecoats  everywhere. 
It  was  very  beautiful.  The  generals  arrived 
and  passed  along  our  front,  while  we  all  pre- 
sented arms.  Then  the  flags  of  all  the  regi- 
ments were  placed  side  by  side,  with  their 
escort  of  honor.  Three  of  the  number  were  to 
be  decorated,  and  were  set  a  little  in  advance 
of  this  splendid  group  of  shimmering  rags 
floating  triumphantly  in  the  wind.  All  the 
bands  together  played  the  Marseillaise.  I 
could  not  see  much,  I  was  so  far  away,  but  I 
did  see  the  general  kiss  the  flags  which  seemed 
to  droop  toward  him,  and  I  clearly  heard  the 
swelling  notes  of  our  national  hymn  flung  to 
the  sky  by  the  bands  and  by  our  hearts.  Then 
III 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

the  whole  army  corps,  bayonets  and  sabres 
bared,  defiled. 

With  our  beloved  standard  we  returned  to 
cantonment.  The  colonel  made  us  march 
before  it  once  more.  The  glory  of  our  flag 
was  reflected  on  each  one  of  us  and  we  were 
very  proud. 

April  20.  Continual  marches.  Springtime. 
Rest. 

Very  uniform  life.  On  reaching  a  village, 
after  lodging  my  men,  I  always  sally  forth  to 
find  the  church  and  play  the  organ.  It  is  my 
great  joy. 

The  other  day  we  had  execution  parade. 
Two  soldiers  of  the  regiment  were  court- 
martialed  for  refusing  to  go  to  the  trenches 
and  hiding  while  the  others  were  fighting. 
They  were  condemned  to  hard  labor. 

In  the  morning  the  regiment  assembled  in  a 
hollow  square.  Three  battahons  formed  three 
sides;  the  fourth  was  made  up  of  the  machine- 
gun  corps,  the  sanitary  corps,  and  the  band. 
On  the  arrival  of  the  condemned  men,  who 
were  dressed  in  the  chestnut  brown  costume 
of  the  convict,  their  heads  shaved,  without 

112 


A   MONTH   IN   RESERVE 

the  slightest  vestige  of  anything  military,  the 
colonel  ordered  us  to  fix  bayonets  and  shoulder 
arms.  The  prisoners  were  brought  into  the 
middle  of  the  square  under  the  conduct  of  four 
soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets.  The  drums  beat 
a  ruffle  —  a  long,  low  roll  followed  by  com- 
plete silence.  Then  a  sergeant-major  read  the 
sentence.  The  drums  rolled  once  more,  after 
which  the  two  men  passed  along  in  front 
of  the  ranks  —  supreme  ignominy  for  those 
who  are  unworthy  to  bear  arms.  Then  they 
were  handed  over  to  the  gendarmes  and  we  all 
dispersed. 

April  22,  Reached  the  banks  of  the  Marne- 
Rhine  Canal,  along  which  I  have  had  so  many 
beautiful  walks  near  Nancy  in  the  old  days. 
We  are  going  to  entrain.  For  what  point?  For 
Alsace,  perhaps,  or  the  Dardanelles. 

April  25.  Neither  Alsace  nor  the  Darda- 
nelles. The  secret  was  well  kept.  We  did  not 
know  where  we  were  going  until  we  actually 
arrived.  To  the  Somme,  not  far  from  Amiens. 

Our  journey  was  a  long  one.  Leaving  Bar- 
le-Duc  at  3  a.m.  we  did  not  get  out  of  the  train 
"3 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

until  II  at  night.  It  was  a  bitter  disappoint- 
ment when  I  found  I  was  turning  my  back  on 
Alsace.  I  began  to  follow  on  my  map  the 
branch  lines  leading  toward  the  south.  There 
were  two.  We  passed  them  by.  We  were  going 
in  the  direction  of  Paris.  We  followed  the 
battle-field  of  the  Marne  —  Cezanne,  Terte- 
Gauche,  La  Fere-Champenoise,  Coulommiers. 
Along  the  railroad  tracks  were  trenches,  and 
individual  shelters,  shell  holes,  and  graves,  — 
graves  everywhere,  either  big,  common  graves 
decorated  with  flowers  and  inscriptions,  many- 
colored,  or  else  separate  graves.  But  over 
them  all  waves  the  bright  tricolor,  joyously. 
They  lie  in  the  midst  of  a  veritable  flower- 
garden  of  flags,  those  who  have  died  for  our 
country. 

We  met  an  armored  train  run  by  marine 
fusiliers.  The  big  guns  are  graced  by  the 
names  of  women:  La  Joconde,  Josephine,  etc. 
The  marines  made  friendly  signals  to  us  as  we 
passed. 

And  then,  toward  evening,  we  reached  the 

outskirts  of  Paris,  in  all  the  adorable  beauty 

of  springtime  and  blossoming  trees,  to  say 

nothing  of  its  houses,  real  ones,  big,  beautiful, 

114 


A  MONTH   IN   RESERVE 

luxurious.  We  had  come  so  near  forgetting 
what  they  looked  like.  And  the  women  smiled, 
and  waved  to  the  soldiers  who  were  going  off 
to  defend  them. 

Very  near  Paris  we  stopped  for  two  hours, 
so  near  that  half  an  hour  in  an  omnibus  would 
have  brought  us  out  at  the  Opera.  We  stayed 
there  a  long  time,  with  our  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
Capital,  and  many  of  us  were  sad  at  being  so 
close  to  those  who  were  dear  to  us  when  they 
so  little  suspected  it.  The  bugle  for  departure 
brought  me  back  from  my  reveries,  and  we 
plunged  once  more  into  the  night. 

At  II  o'clock  we  detrained  and  marched 
until  about  2  a.m.  Before  daybreak  we  were 
under  shelter.  Orders  had  arrived.  We  were 
forbidden  to  go  out  in  the  daytime  except 
when  it  was  possible  to  keep  out  of  sight.  It 
was  essential  for  the  enemy  to  remain  in 
ignorance  of  our  presence.  A  very  strict  watch 
was  instituted  against  enemy  aviators.  Pa- 
trols provided  with  field-glasses  were  stationed 
on  the  heights;  beside  each  patrol  was  a  bugler. 
As  soon  as  an  aeroplane  was  sighted,  long,  slow 
bugle  notes  indicated  that  every  one  must 
hide.  Staccato  notes  meant  that  the  danger 
"5 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

was  over.  There  were  numerous  alarms,  — 
Boche  'planes  going  to  throw  bombs  on  Amiens, 
also  several  French  'planes.  By  way  of  pre- 
caution, the  bugle  is  sounded  for  every  kind 
of  air-craft  and  the  short  notes  indicating 
^'danger  past"  reecho  as  soon  as  the  sentry 
spies  on  the  wings  of  the  'plane  the  tricolor 
cockade, 

I  am  billeted  at  the  house  of  a  cheery  and 
charming  peasant  woman  who  is  kindness 
itself.  She  dotes  on  officers  and  treats  us  roy- 
ally. I  wish  it  might  last,  this  life  of  peace  and 
comfort.  But  something  is  brewing.  The 
storm  will  burst  before  long.  Of  that  much  I 
am  certain. 

April  27,  Delicious  jar  niente.  I  am  en- 
throned in  idleness  like  a  pasha.  We  are  not 
allowed  to  show  ourselves,  so  our  rest  is  abso- 
lute. But  we  are  well  taken  care  of,  and  I  am 
not  complaining.  Meanwhile  the  commander 
calls  us  together  each  day  to  expound  the 
principles  of  the  new  tactics.  There  are  not 
to  be  any  more  little  local  attacks,  like  those 
in  Champagne,  but  big  attacks,  and  the  unit 
of  combat  will  be  the  company  and  no  longer 
116 


A  MONTH   IN   RESERVE 

the  section.  The  goal  we  must  aim  at  is  to 
take  at  a  single  blow  all  the  enemy's  trenches, 
so  as  to  push  him  back  into  the  open.  First, 
the  artillery  will  hammer  the  Boche  trenches; 
then  we  shall  have  to  jump  over  them,  while 
crews  of  ^drench-cleaners''  follow  in  our  wake 
to  put  in  order  the  trenches  thus  conquered. 
The  men  of  the  crews  are  armed  with  revolvers 
and  knives. 

Decidedly  the  war  is  daily  growing  more 
terrible. 

There  are  other  principles,  too,  that  have 
reference  to  working  in  concert  with  the 
artillery.   But  I  think  it  is  lunch  time. 

April  30.  We  start  this  evening.  There  is 
to  be  a  grand  offensive.  Some  great  stroke  is 
being  prepared.  Will  it  be  the  decisive  one? 
I  still  dream  the  same  dream  that  haunted 
me  in  the  training-camp;  the  grand  entry  into 
Berlin,  Unter  den  Linden,  but  especially  the 
triumphal  return  to  Paris,  under  the  Arc  de 
rfitoile,  down  the  Champs-Elysees. 

I  am  rather  sorry  to  leave  the  life  of 
comfort  and  good  cheer  I  have  been  lead- 
ing these  days.  But  thanks  to  this  respite 
117 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

I  shall  be  all  the  more  ready  for  work,  I 
think. 

It  is  a  month  since  I  left  Champagne.  For 
a  month  we  have  been  going  about  from 
village  to  village,  from  Champagne  to  the 
Meuse,  from  the  Meuse  to  Lorraine,  from 
Lorraine  to  Flanders.  I  have  seen  many 
countrysides.  I  have  lodged  in  many  villages. 
Everywhere  we  have  had  a  marvellous  recep- 
tion, of  a  kind  to  make  us  forget  the  hardships 
that  are  past,  and  grow  strong  for  those  to 
come. 


CHAPTER  IX 

before  the  grand  offensive 
(artois,  may  1-8,  1915) 

May  I.  Here  we  are  near  Arras,  on  the  eve  of 
returning  to  the  trenches. 

We  have  had  a  long  journey,  in  order  to 
travel  a  very  few  miles;  we  left  at  night,  of 
course,  and  arrived  late  at  night  at  Saint-Pol. 
On  coming  out  of  the  station  we  found  before 
us  a  long  train  of  autobuses  waiting  to  trans- 
port us  to  the  front.  They  were  big  goods 
trucks,  very  powerful,  arranged  with  four  seats 
each,  on  which  there  was  room  for  twenty 
men.  Then  the  companies  were  divided  by 
turns  into  groups  of  twenty,  and  the  men  took 
their  places.  The  ofl&cers  had  a  very  comfort- 
able motor  car.  It  did  not  take  more  than 
half  an  hour  to  get  everybody  settled;  the 
swiftness  was  marvellous.  Then  this  train 
that  bore  nearly  a  thousand  men  set  out  into 
the  darkness.  Not  a  light  was  lighted.  Every 
effort  was  made  to  maintain  secrecy. 

For  two  solid  hours  we  jolted  along  at  a 
119 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

lively  clip  over  roads  that  were  torn  to  pieces 
by  the  countless  convoys  which  pass  every 
minute  of  the  day  and  night.  We  were  liter- 
ally shrouded  in  dust  when  we  arrived  at  day- 
break at  Agnez-les-Duisans.  There  we  got 
out,  the  companies  formed  once  more,  and  we 
took  a  bite  of  breakfast  by  the  side  of  the  road 
while  the  quartermasters  went  ahead  to  look 
after  billets.  Ours  was  roomy  and  well  sup- 
plied with  straw;  unfortunately,  in  the  course 
of  the  day  it  was  discovered  that  the  straw  was 
full  of  fleas,  and  the  men  had  to  move  out  and 
take  refuge  in  cramped  quarters. 

We  are  forbidden  to  go  out  in  groups.  A 
vigilance  service  has  been  organized  as  before. 
We  have  been  watching  the  manoeuvring  of  a 
captive  "sausage"  balloon,  a  kind  of  balloon 
that  is  shaped  and  ballasted  in  such  a  way 
as  to  prevent  its  being  driven  about  at  the 
mercy  of  every  wind,  like  the  spherical  bal- 
loons. 

Our  mess  is  well  installed.  My  colleague  R. 
always  bestirs  himself  to  find  the  right  place, 
and  he  is  lucky. 

To-morrow  we  return  to  the  trenches. 
There  is  great  massing  of  troops  in  this  region, 
1 20 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

So  this  is  where  the  great  stroke  will  be 
delivered. 

May  J.  Once  more  we  take  up  the  life  of 
war.  We  have  been  in  the  trenches  since  last 
night.  We  had  nearly  lost  the  wont  of  shot 
and  shell,  though  we  are  managing  to  keep 
up  a  good  face.  But  how  different  this  is  from 
Champagne!  Here  it  is  comfortable,  almost 
to  the  point  of  luxury,  and  the  sector  is  as 
calm  as  calm  —  a  few  isolated  cannon  shots 
now  and  then  just  to  let  each  other  know  we 
are  here. 

Two  of  the  four  sections  of  my  company  are 
in  the  first  line;  the  two  others  are  in  the  sup- 
port trenches.  Between  the  two  groups  is  the 
captain  in  a  strongly  sheltered  dug-out,  with 
the  telephone  near  by.  In  front  of  the  trench 
are  two  listening-posts,  where  two  men  and  a 
corporal  are  continually  on  the  watch,  pro- 
tected by  a  net  from  the  enemy's  grenades. 
I  am  in  a  trench  about  eighty  metres  from 
the  German  lines.  This  trench  is  admirably 
arranged. 

A  bench  dug  in  the  wall  serves  at  once  as  a 
se^t  and  as  a  place  to  fire  from;  the  soldier 

121 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

who  is  about  to  fire  mounts  on  it  and  fires 
through  an  improved  loophole  —  large  on  the 
inside  and  smaller  toward  the  enemy,  so  that 
the  Boches  cannot  easily  get  a  line  on  the 
person  who  is  firing.  The  trench  is  about  eight 
feet  deep  and  in  the  sides  have  been  hollowed 
out  roomy  individual  shelters,  a  sort  of  niche 
with  plenty  of  room  for  one  man. 

There  are  two  mines  sunk  between  us  and 
the  enemy.  I  intend  to  go  and  see  them.  My 
dug-out  has  two  stories,  a  bedroom  containing 
a  couch  of  earth  covered  with  straw,  and 
some  planks  for  shelves;  underneath,  at  a 
depth  of  eight  or  ten  metres,  is  a  dug-out  con- 
taining cartridges  and  grenades.  The  main 
store  of  munitions  is  near  the  captain. 

The  men,  too,  are  comfortably  installed. 
Each  one  has  his  own  hole  which  he  can  make 
bigger  or  arrange  to  suit  himself.  Besides,  in 
case  of  a  heavy  bombardment,  it  is  possible 
to  take  refuge  in  the  big  mine  galleries.  Fin- 
ally, two  machine  guns,  carefully  protected, 
guard  the  space  that  separates  us  from  the 
Boches. 

And  then,  there  are  casks  of  water  in  the 
trench  itself.   Could  anything  be  more  unlike 

122 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

the  trench  at  Perthes?  The  fatigues  fill 
them  daily  from  the  well  not  far  distant,  and 
we  can  drink  as  much  as  we  please.  In  order 
to  keep  the  water  cool,  the  casks  are  put  deep 
in  the  ground.  There  are  a  number  of  round- 
bottomed  metal  bowls  in  the  trench,  the  use 
of  which  was  explained  to  us  in  the  daily  bul- 
letin. On  account  of  the  great  number  of  head 
wounds,  it  has  been  found  advisable  to  adopt 
helmets  in  the  French  army.  Meanwhile, 
these  little  bowls  can  be  put  inside  the  cap  to 
protect  the  head.  I  tried  one  and  found  it 
heavy.  But  I  shall  certainly  use  it  if  there  is 
any  need.  Our  ingenious  poilus  discover  all 
sorts  of  uses  for  these  bowls.  They  empty 
their  pockets  into  them,  put  into  them  the 
supply  of  cartridges  that  every  man  is  obliged 
to  have  by  him  at  his  loophole,  thus  keeping 
the  cartridges  free  of  the  mud  which  clogs 
and  spoils  the  guns.  And  I  used  one  for  a 
wash-basin,  and  helped  myself  to  a  little  of 
the  drinking-water  to  wash  in. 

Although  the  sector  was  quiet,  I  did  not 
sleep.    The  orders  were  that  one  man  out  of 
two  was  to  be  allowed  to  sleep.  The  arrange- 
ment of  the  trench  did  not  permit  taking  one 
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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

half-section  for  a  certain  time  and  then  the 
other.  That  would  have  required  awkward 
shifting  about,  so  I  hit  upon  another  plan.  I 
paired  off  the  men  according  to  the  old  princi- 
ple of  putting  chums  to  work  together.  Either 
one  or  the  other  was  to  be  always  awake.  They 
were  allowed  to  arrange  the  details  to  suit 
themselves.  Sometimes  the  one  who  was  least 
tired  good-naturedly  kept  watch  and  let  the 
other  sleep  as  long  as  he  wished.  I  like  to  leave 
a  certain  amount  of  liberty  and  initiative  to 
my  men.  It  always  pleases  them,  and  the 
service  is  much  better  attended  to.  During 
the  night  we  keep  up  a  good  deal  of  firing. 
This  bothers  the  German  workers  or  their  lis- 
tening-patrols and  prevents  our  men  from 
getting  drowsy. 

I  went  to  the  listening-post,  about  sixty 
metres  from  the  German  trenches.  It  is  haz- 
ardous to  look  out  except  with  a  periscope. 
The  landscape  is  very  nearly  as  monotonous 
as  in  Champagne:  barbed  wire,  gray  lines, 
and  a  few  dead  bodies  lying  between  the  lines, 
but  the  vegetation  is  richer  and  more  luxuri- 
ant. In  front  of  the  listening-post  is  a  mine. 
In  case  of  attack  the  earth  can  be  blown  up 
124 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

twenty  metres  in  advance,  simply  by  lighting 
a  bickford  fuse. 

So  the  sector  is  perfectly  clean,  comfort- 
able, and  quiet.  Very  little  work  is  done  ex- 
cept at  night,  and  even  then,  not  much. 

At  noon  we  are  going  into  the  support 
trench. 

Evening,  In  the  second  line.  We  are  in  deep 
dug-outs,  well-protected,  regular  cellars,  abun- 
dantly provided  with  straw.  I  have  been  sleep- 
ing a  little.  Our  food  is  brought  to  us  at  the 
captain's.  A  warming  apparatus  makes  it 
possible  for  us  to  have  excellent  hot  meals. 
The  men  are  well  treated,  too.  The  kitchens 
are  much  easier  of  access  than  in  Champagne. 

We  have  been  warned  by  telephone  to  be 
on  the  lookout  for  a  probable  German  attack. 
It  seems  they  have  been  throwing  to  the 
English  numerous  proclamations,  all  ending 
with:  — 

'^When  is  that  French  attack  coming?" 

So  they  are  expecting  to  be  attacked,  and 
perhaps  they  will  forestall  our  offensive.  In 
case  of  an  alarm  I  am  to  betake  myself  with 
my  men  to  the  first  line.    Our  position,  of 

I2S 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

course,  is  settled  in  advance.  At  five  o'clock 
there  was  a  sort  of  commotion,  a  false  alarm, 
cooked  up  by  the  enemy,  doubtless,  and  we 
all  hurried  to  our  fighting  posts  in  the  first 
line,  and  then  —  marched  back  again. 

To-night  we  shall  have  to  keep  our  eyes  and 
ears  open,  and  all  the  officers  are  to  take  turns 
in  going  the  rounds.  My  hours  are  nine  and 
two. 

May  4,  Two  more  false  alarms  last  night. 
A  soldier  thinks  he  hears  suspicious  noises,  gets 
excited,  and  fires  like  mad.  The  panic  goes 
churning  down  the  line  and  raises  a  regular 
hurricane  in  its  trail. 

In  making  the  rounds,  I  went  over  the  whole 
ground  occupied  by  the  company.  From  time 
to  time  a  flash  from  my  electric  lamp  showed 
me  the  way  through  the  deserted  communica- 
tion trenches.  Every  one  was  at  his  post.  The 
enemy  could  come  on  if  he  wished.  To  tell 
the  truth,  not  a  single  shell  was  sent  our  way. 
The  Boches  had  never  been  less  troublesome. 

To-day  it  is  raining,  and  I  regret  to  see  that 
the  soil  of  Artois  gets  muddy  easily  too.  Hav- 
ing nothing  else  to  do,  I  asked  an  officer  of  the 
126 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

engineering  corps  for  permission  to  go  into  the 
mine.  He  consented  most  willingly,  and  went 
down  with  me  into  the  gallery.  It  is  solidly 
built,  and  supported  by  heavy  planks,  for  the 
brittle  earth  might  easily  stop  up  this  narrow 
space.  I  had  to  crawl  on  all  fours  a  long  time 
before  reaching  the  end,  where  the  listening- 
post  was.  Two  men  were  on  duty  there,  stand- 
ing with  their  ears  close  to  the  wall,  in  the 
yellowish  light  of  a  single  candle.  We  were 
under  the  German  trench.  On  listening  care- 
fully I  made  out  a  faint  murmur  of  voices, 
very  indistinct  and  mufHed.  I  should  not  have 
objected  to  overhearing  the  conversation  of 
those  men  who  were  in  all  likelihood  to  die 
before  many  days  were  spent.  The  large 
explosion  chamber  of  the  mine  was  to  be 
stuffed  with  cheddite,  and  at  the  given  mo- 
ment, an  electric  spark  would  send  that 
trench  and  its  inhabitants  on  a  journey  in  the 
air.  It  was  n't  at  all  pleasant  down  in  that 
hole.  The  air  was  stifling,  and  I  was  glad 
enough,  after  another  long  crawl,  to  find  my- 
self in  the  open  again,  if  the  trench  maybe 
called  the  open. 

In  order  to  guard  against  gas  bombs  we 
127 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

have  been  given  horrible,  nightmarish  masks, 
goggles  set  in  a  kind  of  pig  jowl  or  snout  made 
of  rubber  and  containing  a  solution  of  ammo- 
nia. They  make  you  look  like  a  wild  animal, 
and  as  soon  as  I  got  mine  I  put  it  on  for  the 
benefit  of  my  poilus.  They  nearly  laughed 
themselves  into  fits. 

But  life  in  general  is  calm,  too  calm  even. 
I  am  reading  '^  Anna  Karenina,"  that  came  by 
mail  yesterday,  and  smoking  endless  pipes. 
The  men  make  lots  of  aluminum  rings.  As 
soon  as  a  shell  lands  they  start  out  to  look  for 
the  fuse,  of  which  they  fashion  very  artistic 
little  rings.  My  soldiers  have  given  me  several. 
I  am  on  most  friendly  terms  with  them  all.  At 
odd  times  I  have  bought  them  little  extras  in 
the  way  of  wine  or  sweets,  and  then  I  manage 
things  so  that  they  get  their  letters  before 
any  of  the  other  sections.  The  letters  come 
toward  midnight,  with  the  fatigue  who  brings 
rations.  I  am  always  on  hand,  and  along 
with  my  own  correspondence  I  take  that  of 
my  men.  It  is  the  one  great  joy  of  the  day, 
so  why  should  it  be  deferred?  To  be  sure, 
it  is  because  I  am  so  keen  on  letters  myself 
that  I  like  the  men  to  share  my  pleasure.  And 
128 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

if  they  have  no  light,  they  have  permission  to 
come  to  my  dug-out,  which  is  always  lighted. 
They  insist  on  my  taking  some  of  all  their  good 
things,  candies,  cigarettes,  or  what-not,  when 
a  package  comes.  But  I  can  find  a  way  to 
even  things  up. 

I  think  I  have  my  men  well  in  hand.  I  shall 
be  able  to  do  some  good  work  with  them  when 
the  time  comes. 

May  5.  At  noon,  returned  to  the  first  line. 
After  that  the  day  was  eventful.  It  was  de- 
cided, by  way  of  preparation  for  future  offen- 
sives, to  furnish  the  attacking  sections  with 
red  and  white  pennons,  which  were  to  serve  as 
signals  to  the  artillery,  and  mark  the  first 
French  lines.  By  this  means  the  artillery  will 
not  risk  peppering  its  compatriots  in  the 
course  of  an  advance.  To-day  the  order  came 
to  raise  the  pennons  over  our  first  lines,  so 
that  our  artillery  can  get  the  range  of  the 
enemy's  positions.  At  two  o'clock,  therefore, 
they  were  hoisted.  The  astonishment  of  the 
Boches  was  promptly  made  manifest  by  a 
whirlwind  of  bullets  which  converted  these 
common  bits  of  cloth  into  glorious  trophies. 
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DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

Then  our  artillery  turned  loose.  It  was  our 
duty  to  observe  the  range  and  rectify  it  by 
telephone.  One  by  one,  with  mathematical 
precision,  big  shells  lighted  on  the  German 
positions.  There  must  be  a  formidable  num- 
ber of  batteries,  for  without  a  moment's  pause 
or  cessation  shells  poured  on  the  Boche  trench 
for  three  full  hours. 

Meanwhile,  very  naturally,  our  friends 
across  the  way  began  to  get  peevish  and  sent 
off  a  few  blasts  of  little  77's,  which  afforded 
great  satisfaction  to  the  makers  of  rings.  One 
could  hear  them  coming  very  distinctly;  first, 
the  six  reports  of  the  battery,  then  a  hiss,  then 
a  detonation,  not  very  terrifying.  I  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  trench  with  my  eye  glued  to  a 
periscope.  Several  shells  landed  near;  one  fell 
on  a  decaying  corpse  in  the  midst  of  the  wire, 
spreading  about  for  several  minutes  the  hor- 
rible heavy  odor  that  reminded  me  of  the  night 
we  buried  the  dead  in  Champagne.  Another 
stupid  shell  chose  to  fall  in  the  passage  that 
led  to  my  dug-out.  The  bags  of  sand  were 
tumbled  all  about  and  it  took  more  than  half 
an  hour's  work  before  I  could  get  into  my 
quarters.  My  things  were  not  at  all  damaged. 
130 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

And  yet,  at  one  moment  explosive  shells 
rained  thick  and  fast,  two  or  three  on  the  par- 
apet, blowing  to  bits  several  loopholes.  The 
machine  gunners,  who  were  playing  cards 
near  their  gun,  shut  their  dug-out  with  a  tent- 
sheet.  It  is  a  thing  I  have  often  noticed  and 
proves  that,  after  all,  man  is  not  so  different 
from  the  ostrich.  One  has  the  illusion  of  being 
secure  behind  the  most  flimsy  barrier,  if  only 
it  keeps  out  the  sight  of  the  danger  —  a  hedge, 
a  plank,  a  tent-sheet.  It  is  an  insult  to  rea- 
son, but  that  does  n't  matter.  Brute  instinct 
knows  no  reason. 

So  the  sector  that  on  our  arrival  seemed 
asleep  has  had  a  rude  awakening.  Everything 
points  to  a  coming  offensive.  I  certainly  hope 
we  shall  have  a  share  in  it. 

May  6,  Night  calm.  The  Boches  seemed 
non-existent.  Our  artillery  quieted  down.  I 
was  wakeful  notwithstanding.  The  responsi- 
bility is  too  great. 

It  is  raining  hard.  There  is  water  in  the 
bottom  of  the  trench,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
move  without  taking  a  disagreeable  foot- 
bath. 

131 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

But  the  aviators  give  signs  of  great  activity. 
Since  morning  we  have  had  the  joy  of  watch- 
ing several  reconnaissances.  The  'planes  were 
hotly  bombarded,  but  to  no  purpose. 

Their  flight  must  have  been  successful,  for 
no  sooner  had  they  returned  than  our  artillery 
set  up  a  terrible  spitting  at  the  German 
trenches.  It  was  not  hurried,  but  was  a  slow, 
continuous,  methodical  fire  which  must  have 
been  very  deadly.  From  the  second  line  we 
sent  off  the  little  winged  bombs,  the  "cauli- 
flowers" whose  acquaintance  we  made  in 
Champagne.  They  leap  up,  not  very  high, 
then  hesitate  an  instant  before  they  swoop 
down  upon  the  Boches,  exploding  with  a 
muflBed  thud  which  makes  the  ground  tremble 
clear  to  our  trench,  while  a  spout  of  black 
smoke  rises  and  floats  a  long  time.  In  all  the 
sectors  where  I  have  been,  the  superiority  of 
our  artillery  becomes  every  day  more  evident. 

After  dinner  the  question  was  telephoned: 
"What  are  the  special  points  the  different  sec- 
tion commanders  would  like  to  see  battered 
by  the  artillery  in  case  of  a  drive?''  I  asked 
for  the  collaboration  of  all  my  men.  I  had  the 
corporals  explain  to  them  the  signs  by  which 
132 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

they  could  recognize  the  machine-gun  posi- 
tions: better  defenses,  loopholes  bigger,  bags 
of  sand  more  numerous  and  more  carefully 
arranged.  I  took  my  glass  and  observed 
minutely  all  the  points  of  the  German  trench. 
I  went  to  the  listening-post,  and  with  the  help 
of  a  much-perfected  field-glass  periscope, 
which  magnifies  in  addition  to  giving  a  view 
over  the  edge,  I  probed  the  German  position. 
At  the  end  of  more  than  an  hour's  work,  util- 
izing the  observations  of  my  men,  I  was  able 
to  fix  almost  to  a  certainty  the  positions  of 
four  machine  guns.  I  marked  on  the  plan  of 
the  trenches  that  had  been  given  us  the  exact 
points  to  be  hammered,  and  the  document  was 
sent  along  the  hierarchical  paths  and  in  due 
time  reached  the  artillery. 

Then  we  indulged  in  a  little  distraction. 
As  the  rain  had  stopped,  I  went  to  two  of  my 
best  marksmen  and  proposed  a  match.  It  is 
very  amusing  to  try  one's  skill  in  shooting. 
The  objective  point  is  a  Boche  loophole,  that 
is  to  say,  a  piece  of  steel  plate.  If  the  balls 
touch,  one  hears  a  metallic  ring  and  the  hum 
of  the  ricochet.  I  made  a  good  score,  but  I 
placed  only  nine  balls  out  of  ten,  and  was 

133 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

beaten  by  P.  who  got  in  all  ten.  The  prize 
was  a  package  of  cigarettes. 

Everybody  is  in  a  good  humor  to-day. 
There  is  a  great  buzz  of  conversation.  Some 
of  the  men  are  playing  checkers,  others  cards. 
One  man  who' is  the  happy  recipient  of  an 
accordion  is  favoring  us  with  popular  tunes 
which  everybody  catches  up  in  chorus.  Really, 
it  is  very  festive. 

This  evening  we  go  to  the  second  line,  in  the 
shelters.  Three  of  the  four  companies  of  our 
battalion  are  on  the  firing  line,  the  fourth  is  in 
reserve.  It  is  our  turn  now  to  be  in  reserve. 

May  7.  We  are  in  marvellous  shelters, 
where  we  laugh  defiance  to  missiles  of  all  sorts 
and  kinds,  even  the  420's.  Behind  the  second 
lines,  galleries  have  been  sunk,  to  which  broad 
staircases  give  access.  Around  theni  is  a  sort 
of  ditch  which  serves  as  a  yard,  on  which  the 
entrances  open.  They  are  vast  tunnels,  fifty 
feet  underground,  made  by  the  engineers,  — 
broad,  supported  by  huge  beams,  and  fur- 
nished with  plank  floors.  They  are  about  a 
hundred  feet  long,  ten  feet  broad,  and  ten 
feet  high,  and  are  in  every  way  comfortable. 
134 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

There  are  beds  of  straw,  bags  for  pillows  and 
candles  for  light.  In  the  yard  are  supplies: 
grenades,  wire,  trench  shells,  ^nd  casks  of 
water.  We  oflScers  have  a  special  gallery  with 
two  compartnients,  a  living-room  and  a  sleep- 
ing-room. The  living-room  is  provided  with  a 
huge  fireplace,  a  big  table,  several  stools,  and 
a  superb  lamp.  The  bedroom  is  less  sumptuous 
—  a  large  space  covered  with  a  thick  bed  of 
straw  where  we  shall  sleep  soundly. 

There  has  been  unusual  activity  along  the 
front  these  two  days.  Staff  officers  keep  com- 
ing and  going.  Men  have  been  carrying  to  the 
first  lines  quantities  of  hand  grenades,  wire, 
and  ladders.  Aeroplanes  are  circling  busily 
through  the  air.  The  artillery  sounds  like  an 
orchestra  tuning  its  instruments  before  the 
symphony.   Important  events  are  afoot. 

Evening.  It's  coming!  The  grand  offensive  is 
to  be  launched  over  a  wide  area.  In  the  whole 
of  Flanders  the  attempt  is  to  be  made  to  pierce 
the  Boche  front.  We  are  going  to  try  to  get 
out  of  these  accursed  trenches  and  fight 
superbly,  face  to  face. 

About  five  o'clock,  just  as  we  were  sitting 

I3S 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

down  at  table,  I  was  called  to  the  comman- 
dant. My  colleagues  had  also  been  summoned 
and  we  received  our  orders.  To-morrow,  at 
an  hour  not  yet  indicated,  the  regiment  is  to 
attack,  in  concert  with  those  of  the  nine  army 
corps  that  are  massed  in  this  region.  It  is  the 
grand  offensive  —  victory,  perhaps.  We  are 
to  go  forward  and  jump  over  four  enemy 
trenches,  previously  battered  by  the  artillery, 
not  stopping  until  we  reach  a  ravine  that  can 
be  seen  through  the  glass  eight  hundred  metres 
from  our  first  line.  We  pore  over  the  maps,  and 
make  sure  of  our  exact  goal.  My  company  is 
to  march  at  the  head  in  open  formation  and 
lead  the  drive.  The  commandant  thereupon 
shook  hands  with  each  of  us  in  turn,  and  told 
us  that  he  counted  on  every  man  to  do  his 
duty. 

I  went  back  to  my  soldiers  to  issue  the  com- 
mand to  get  ready.  Each  man  was  to  have 
two  hundred  cartridges,  six  grenades,  and 
three  days'  rations,  and  was  to  carry  his  blan- 
ket slung  crosswise  over  his  shoulder.  But 
while  I  was  consulting  with  my  colleagues  the 
plan  of  the  German  positions,  a  message  came 
that  all  orders  were  cancelled.    The  sudden 

136 


BEFORE  THE  GRAND  OFFENSIVE 

let-down  was  not  entirely  pleasant,  but  we  all 
shared  somewhat  the  feeling  of  the  sorry- 
jester  who  said:  "All  right,  that  gives  us  one 
more  day  to  live." 

We  count  on  coming  out  alive.  But  the 
nearness  of  danger  is  not  without  its  anguish. 

We  have  been  having  a  fine  game  of  poker. 
I  lost,  so  I  shall  be  lucky. 

I  am  tired.  My  fellow  officers  have  been 
asleep  this  long  time.  I  am  going  to  imitate 
them.  The  boom  of  our  big  guns  is  heavy  and 
deep. 

May  8,  lo  p.m.  It  is  for  to-night.  We  are 
to  take  positions  in  the  first  line  at  3  a.m.  The 
time  of  the  attack  is  not  yet  fixed.  I  have 
written  a  great  many  letters.  Perhaps  I  have 
given  way  to  my  feelings  in  some  of  them. 
I  did  not  tell  my  mother.  I  wrote  her  that 
new  movements  of  troops  are  predicted  for  the 
near  future,  and  that  she  is  not  to  worry  if  she 
has  no  news  of  me  for  awhile.  But  I  told  the 
truth  to  my  little  godmother  and  to  my  old 
friend  ^c  h:  * 

But  sadness  and  farewells  I  have  put  behind 
me.  Now  I  am  all  a  soldier,  and  a  soldier  filled 

137 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

with  the  determination  to  fight  and  to  con- 
quer, and  exalted  by  the  work  that  is  before 
him.   If  I  die,  and  these  are  the  last  words  I 
am  destined  to  write,  I  want  them  to  be 
Vive  —  Vive  la  France. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ATTACK 

June  9.  In  the  silence  and  quiet  of  a  little 
hospital  room,  near  a  window  where  pink  and 
white  thorn-trees  make  a  fragrant  screen,  I 
am  going  to  recall  the  nightmare  of  a  month 
ago,  and  finish  the  record  of  my  first  cam- 
paign. 

As  I  read  over  the  last  few  pages,  the  enthu- 
siasm I  felt  when  they  were  written  comes 
surging  back.  Neither  time  nor  suffering 
can  take  it  away  from  me.  But  the  horror  of 
the  hours  that  followed  our  offensive  on  the 
terrible  ninth  of  May  is  very  nearly  a  thing 
of  the  past.  It  has  been  lifted  and  smoothed 
away  in  this  peaceful  white  hospital  by  the 
angels  who  dwell  in  it  —  the  sublime  women 
of  the  French  Red  Cross.  Not  that  I  have  for- 
gotten any  part  of  the  events  of  that  day. 
The  account  I  shall  give  of  them  will  be  exact. 

On  the  night  before  the  attack,  then,  we 
were  awakened  about  midnight  by  the  begin- 
ning of  the  bombardment.    Unable  to  sleep, 

139 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

we  arose  and  got  ready  ahead  of  time.  At 
last  came  the  order  to  go  forward  to  our 
fighting  posts.  One  by  one  we  moved  along 
the  dark,  narrow  trenches  leading  to  the  first 
lines.  Above  our  head  was  the  constant  hiss- 
ing of  our  big  shells  on  their  way  to  the  Boches. 
Once  in  the  first  line,  we  spent  the  long  hour^ 
of  waiting  as  comfortably  as  we  could. 

Dawn  came  slowly.  Through  our  loop-holes 
we  could  discern  the  gray  line  of  the  trenches 
we  were  to  take,  ploughed  up  by  our  artillery 
volcanoes.  Regularly,  almost  mathematically, 
our  heavy  shells  dropped  on  the  enemy, 
demolishing  their  dug-outs,  smashing  their 
wire  entanglements,  shattering  their  trenches. 
At  times,  through  my  field-glass,  I  could  dis- 
tinctly see  human  limbs  scattered  in  the  air 
along  with  the  earth  of  the  explosions. 

Meanwhile  coffee  was  brought,  and  it  was 
welcome  in  the  chill  of  early  morning.  I  went 
to  each  of  my  men  in  turn  and  spoke  of  that 
which  was  nearest  his  heart.  I  knew  them  well, 
my  poilus,  I  tried  to  make  them  feel  the  con- 
fidence I  felt,  and  in  doing  so,  my  own  faith 
grew  stronger  and  the  last  faint  doubt  that 
oppressed  me  was  driven  from  my  mind. 
140 


THE  ATTACK 

The  bombardment  kept  growing  in  inten- 
sity. It  was  seven  o'clock.  Several  artillery 
ofl&cers  came  into  my  trench  to  control  the 
precision  of  the  fire,  which  was  to  clear  our 
way  of  all  outside  obstacles  —  wire  entangle- 
ments, chevaux-de-frise,  the  enemy  trenches. 
The  observation  post  was  at  a  distance  from 
the  telephone,  and  the  rectifications  given  by 
the  ofiicers  were  repeated  down  the  line  from 
man  to  man.  In  a  short  time,  all  was  regulated 
and  the  storm  began.  It  is  impossible  to  real- 
ize the  din  of  this  firing.  Guns  of  all  calibres 
spit  forth  their  shells  with  the  maximum  of 
rapidity.  This  lasted  three  hours,  three  deafen- 
ing, maddening  hours.  In  the  midst  of  the 
storm  of  steel  and  fire  the  brigadier-general 
arrived.  He  said  a  few  words  to  me.  I  told 
him  I  was  as  sure  of  my  men  as  of  myself.  He 
seemed  satisfied  and  gave  me  the  hour  of  at- 
tack, ten  o'clock. 

Ten  o'clock !  Every  one  looked  at  his  watch. 
Nine  o'clock.  So  in  an  hour  then.  It  is  an 
hour  tense  with  emotion.  Faces  that  are  near 
give  place  to  other  faces.  The  hand  seeks  some 
loved  token,  the  eye  lingers  on  a  letter,  a  pho- 
tograph, or  is  fixed  upon  the  Book  of  Prayer. 
141 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

Five  minutes  to  ten!  I  take  my  place  at  the 
foot  of  my  ladder.  In  those  last  moments 
thoughts  come  rapidly.  On  this  ladder  hangs 
our  destiny.  In  the  trench  there  is  relative 
security.  What  will  become  of  us  at  the  top 
of  those  four  rounds  ?  But  no  one  thinks  of 
hesitating.  We  seem  to  be  in  the  grasp  of 
some  unknown  and  mighty  force. 

I  seize  my  revolver  and  make  sure  of  my 
grenades.  One  minute  to  ten.  At  this  instant 
comes  a  rumbling  detonation  which  causes  the 
ground  to  tremble  as  if  shaken  by  an  earth- 
quake. Our  mines  have  exploded.  This  is  the 
time. 

"Attention!  Forward,  mes  petits,  and  Vive 
la  France  r^ 

This  cry  burst  from  every  throat,  and  I 
sprang  up  my  ladder,  followed  by  my  men. 
From  that  moment  I  was  carried  forward  by 
the  intoxication  of  the  assault.  I  ran,  gesticu- 
lating and  yelling.  I  did  not  see,  but  rather 
felt,  my  men  close  to  me,  running  by  my  side, 
and,  like  myself,  drunk  with  a  sublime  mad- 
ness. We  reached  the  first  German  trench. 
We  threw  hand  grenades.  But  no  living  thing 
was  there.  Confusedly  in  my  onward  rush  I 
142 


THE  ATTACK 

saw  heaps  of  earth  and  corpses.  The  bom- 
bardment had  ahnost  levelled  the  trench.  For- 
ward, still  forward.  We  kept  running  breath- 
lessly, carried  away  by  the  strange  fascination 
of  victory  and  by  the  joy  of  treading  the  soil 
we  were  giving  back  to  France.  I  went  ahead, 
unconscious  of  those  who  were  falling  by  the 
way.  My  intelligence  was  numbed.  A  greater 
force  was  urging  me  on. 

After  passing  the  second  trench,  I  noticed 
that  our  ranks  had  thinned,  but  we  went  on 
and  plunged  into  the  third  trench.  A  furious 
hand-to-hand  fight  followed.  I  unloaded  my 
revolver  almost  instinctively  on  a  German 
who  was  aiming  at  me.  By  this  time  our  sec- 
ond wave  of  assault  was  coming  up  to  us.  I 
quickly  decided  to  join  it  and  push  forward.  I 
was  covered  with  sweat  and  blood  —  with  the 
blood  of  the  Boche  I  had  killed.  I  was  in  a 
frenzy.  I  ran  toward  the  fourth  trench,  the 
last  one  to  be  captured  before  reaching  our 
goal.  I  went  on,  hypnotized  by  that  trench 
which  seemed  to  be  running  to  meet  me.  I 
wanted  it.  It  belonged  to  me.  I  could  see  the 
enemy  through  the  gaps  our  artillery  had 
made  in  their  defenses. 

143 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

Suddenly  I  fell.  I  was  alone.  Above  my 
head  was  the  constant  whizzing  of  bullets; 
near  by,  the  significant  snorting  of  a  machine 
gun.  At  first  I  was  a  little  stunned,  then  I 
attempted  to  rise  and  felt  that  my  right  arm 
moved  with  difficulty.  My  coat  was  covered 
with  blood.  My  arm  hung  limp.  I  felt  it.  I 
tried  to  understand.  Wounded,  of  course. 
But  what  of  my  soldiers?  I  raised  my  head; 
a  bullet  struck  the  ground  very  near.  I  fell 
back,  but  I  had  had  time  enough  to  see.  No- 
body in  front  of  me.  Nobody  behind  me. 
Corpses  all  around.  I  was  alone,  ten  yards 
from  the  enemy^s  trench.  I  could  see  the 
Boches  moving  in  it.  With  my  left  hand  I  got 
hold  of  my  revolver  that  was  still  hanging  to 
the  fingers  of  my  other  hand.  But  what  was 
the  use  of  firing  left-handed?  I  should  miss 
and  they  would  make  an  end  of  me. 

To  advance  was  impossible.  To  go  back 
was  equally  impossible.  The  least  move  would 
be  my  death.  The  bullets  above  my  head  kept 
up  a  fearful  hum.  It  seemed  as  if  I  could  not 
possibly  get  out  of  this,  and  passive,  resigned, 
I  flattened  myself  against  the  ground  and  re- 
mained motionless. 

144 


THE  ATTACK 

This  situation  could  not  last.  If  I  did  not 
get  under  shelter,  one  of  those  bullets  would 
surely  find  me  out.  Near  by,  within  a  few 
yards,  a  slight  rise  in  the  ground  indicated  a 
possible  cavity.  With  great  care,  without  ap- 
parent motion,  inch  by  inch,  I  dragged  my- 
self to  it.  Think  of  my  joy.  It  was  a  large  fun- 
nel, dug  out  by  a  German  mine,  and  a  score  of 
wounded  had  taken  refuge  in  it.  Still  another 
effort  and  I  found  myself  among  them.  The 
cavity  was  five  or  six  yards  deep,  and  very 
wide  at  the  top.  A  few  dead  lay  prone  upon 
the  edge,  poor  fellows,  killed  at  the  moment 
when,  like  myself,  they  saw  salvation  in  that 
hole. 

I  recognized  in  the  crater  three  of  my  own 
men.  One  of  them,  wounded  in  the  thigh,  was 
applying  a  bandage  with  the  help  of  a  comrade. 
When  this  was  done  he  cut  the  sleeve  of  my 
coat,  then  my  jacket  sleeve,  and  finally  my  shirt 
sleeve.  He  poured  a  little  tincture  of  iodine  on 
the  wound.  The  elbow  was  pierced  through 
and  through.  He  dressed  it  with  bandages 
from  the  package  every  soldier  carries,  and 
made  a  sling  with  a  piece  of  tent-sheet.  And 
then,  profoundly  moved  to  find  ourselves  there 

145 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

after  that  mad  race,  officer  and  man  met  in 
a  silent  embrace,  expressing  by  that  gesture 
what  words  failed  to  voice. 

The  captain  of  the  company  which  marched 
immediately  behind  us  was  also  there,  down- 
cast, raging  like  the  rest  of  us  at  being  in  this 
stupid  and  terrible  situation.  Some  of  the  men 
were  slightly  wounded,  but  one  man  had  a  big 
hole  in  his  stomach.  The  poor  wretch  lay 
panting  and  moaning.  At  times  he  screamed 
in  spite  of  our  efforts  to  keep  him  still.  The 
cries  were  heard  by  the  Boches  whose  trench 
was  scarcely  ten  yards  away,  and  in  accord- 
ance with  their  noble  custom  of  killing  the 
wounded,  they  threw  grenades  in  our  direction. 
Fortunately,  they  fell  short  of  us,  but  they 
increased  our  anxiety,  as  well  as  our  disgust 
and  hatred. 

Above  our  heads  the  air  was  lashed  with  a 
terrible  cross-fire.  The  sad  truth  began  to 
come  home  to  me  that  our  advance  had  been 
checked  after  the  third  trench.  And  what  of 
my  men,  my  poilus  whom  I  so  loved?  Dead? 

Meanwhile  our  own  plight  was  extremely 
critical.  Our  lives  hung  by  a  very  slender 
thread.  For  the  present,  the  unceasing  fire  of 
146 


THE  ATTACK 

machine  guns  prevented  our  escape.  Sooner 
or  later  the  Germans  would  launch  a  counter- 
attack and  put  an  end  to  us  with  their  hand 
grenades.  And  again,  if  the  French  pursued 
the  offensive,  they  would  renew  the  bombard- 
ment, and  in  all  probability  we  should  be 
struck  by  our  own  shells.  As  for  surrendering 
to  the  Boches,  —  they  were  near  enough  — 
every  man  of  us  would  rather  starve  in  that 
hole.  These  thoughts  and  the  pain  from  my 
wound  prostrated  me  for  a  moment.  I  felt 
myself  losing  consciousness  and  I  took  a  few 
drops  from  a  flask  of  cordial  that  happened 
to  be  in  my  bag,  and  I  revived. 

Then  came  a  brief  lull.  Time  dragged 
along  slowly,  very  slowly.  Toward  noon  a 
fusillade  broke  forth  in  the  enemy's  trench. 
A  ray  of  hope.  Were  the  French  carrying 
their  attack  to  the  fourth  line?  A  man  sud- 
denly stumbled  into  our  crater.  He  was  one  of 
my  own  soldiers.  He  was  without  his  equip- 
ment. He  saw  me  and,  weeping  and  laughing, 
embraced  me.  I  asked  him  where  he  came 
from  and  why  he  had  no  gun,  no  bayonet,  no 
grenades.  In  a  distracted  voice  he  told  me  his 
story. 

147 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

After  I  had  been  wounded  and  knocked 
down,  my  soldiers  kept  on  running  forward 
and  jumped  into  the  fourth  German  trench. 
But  their  ranks  had  thinned,  and  they  were 
too  few.  Some  were  killed,  others  disarmed. 
The  latter  were  told  by  the  Boches  after  a 
time :  "  You  are  not  wanted.  Get  out  of  here. " 
My  men  were  bewildered.  They  could  not 
understand.  Again  they  were  ordered  to  leave, 
and  finally  they  leaped  out  of  the  trench  and 
began  running  back  to  the  French  position. 
The  brutes  then  fired  upon  them  from  behind. 
All  were  killed  evidently,  with  the  exception 
of  this  soldier,  who  owed  his  life  to  the  crater 
into  which  he  had  providentially  fallen. 

My  grief  was  intense.  I  had  lost  all  my 
brave  men,  and  I  was  powerless  to  avenge 
them.  To  this  mental  torture  was  added  the 
suffering  from  my  wound.  The  hot  rays  of 
the  sun  came  directly  upon  us.  Hand  gre- 
nades fell  again  into  the  crater.  We  crouched 
close  to  the  ground. 

Presently  French  7s's  and  105 's  began  to 

burst  over  the  German  trench.   We  watched 

the  shells.  They  were  very,  very  near  us.  One 

75  exploded  just  above  our  heads  and  the 

148 


THE  ATTACK 

impact  threw  the  body  of  a  dead  soldier  al- 
most on  top  of  me.  It  was  a  terrible  feeling 
to  be  under  the  fire  of  our  own  guns.  Another 
shell  burst  and  blew  to  pieces  that  very  sol- 
dier of  mine  who  had  escaped  the  odious  mas- 
sacre. We  quickly  threw  a  tent-sheet  over  this 
abomination.  We  were  fully  conscious  of  the 
horror  of  our  situation.  Another  explosion  cut 
off  the  foot  of  a  sergeant,  and  in  spite  of  his 
screams  I  poured  a  flask  of  iodine  on  his  wound. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  gave  up  all  hope.  We 
had  made  a  sacrifice  of  our  lives  and  motion- 
less, resigned,  we  sat  silently  waiting. 

But  an  idea  came  to  me.  There  were  heavy 
planks  in  the  bottom  of  the  crater,  which  had 
been  used  to  prop  the  explosion  chamber  of 
the  mine.  With  much  difficulty  we  moved 
them  together,  leaning  them  against  the  side 
of  the  crater.  Under  this  shelter  we  all  hud- 
dled. Several  times  our  wooden  structure  was 
violently  shaken  by  explosions,  and  our  wounds 
were  racked  at  each  shock,  but  more  than 
that  we  were  not  hurt.  This  lasted  a  long 
time,  an  infinitely  long  time.  The  hours  do 
not  seem  to  move  under  such  circumstances. 

Finally  the  captain,  the  only  man  in  the 
149 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

crater  who  was  not  wounded,  declared  that 
he  was  going  to  the  French  trench  to  have  the 
firing  stopped.  In  spite  of  our  protests,  for 
we  knew  that  he  would  meet  death  on  the 
way;  he  went  out  under  the  bombardment. 

A  long  time  afterward  the  firing  from  our 
side  ceased.  Could  the  captain  have  reached 
our  trenches?  And  hope  revived  in  us  again. 
We  all  wanted  to  leave  this  inferno  at  once. 
But  the  German  machine  guns  started  in 
afresh.  We  must  wait  for  the  night. 

The  sun  was  getting  low.  The  bombard- 
ment ceased  and  we  came  out  from  under  the 
protection  of  our  planks.  We  stretched  out  on 
the  ground,  which  was  all  furrowed  by  shells. 
The  wounded  were  moaning,  some  had  the 
death  rattle.  I  was  exhausted,  and  somehow 
I  fell  asleep.  When  I  awoke  it  was  already 
dusk.  The  hour  of  deliverance  was  near.  But 
as  soon  as  night  came,  rockets  flashed  from 
the  German  trench  and  a  fusillade  burst  forth. 
Possibly  some  of  the  wounded  had  tried  to 
return  to  our  lines  and  were  being  shot  from 
behind.  Our  hope  grew  dim,  and  we  wondered 
if  we  should  ever  get  away.  We  were  horrified 
to  think  we  might  have  to  spend  another  day 

150 


THE  ATTACK 

in  that  hole.  Better  die  at  once,  die  in  an 
effort  to  get  back,  die  with  hope  in  our  hearts. 

About  nine  o^clock  the  man  least  wounded 
among  us  decided  to  venture  forth.  His  plan 
was,  on  reaching  the  French  line,  to  request 
that  a  trench  be  dug  out  in  our  direction  so 
that  we  could  return  in  safety.  We  agreed 
upon  a  signal  to  be  given  by  our  machine 
guns:  twice  four  sharp  shots  to  establish  the 
communication;  three  times  three  slow  shots 
would  indicate  that  we  must  wait  until  they 
came  for  us;  three  times  three  rapid  shots  that 
we  should  have  to  escape  by  our  own  means. 

Half  an  hour  or  more  elapsed.  Rockets 
kept  flashing  in  the  night  and  the  machine 
guns  never  stopped.  We  began  to  fear  for  the 
fate  of  our  comrade.  Yet  at  last  came  the  sig- 
nal —  three  times  three  rapid  shots.  Come 
hack,  come  hack,  come  hack,  said  the  French 
guns.  We  had  to  count  on  ourselves  alone. 
Then  we  decided  to  crawl  to  our  lines. 

One  by  one,  at  long  intervals,  we  left.  Only 
one  could  not  leave,  the  man  wounded  in  the 
stomach.  "So  you  forsake  me,"  he  moaned. 
I  spread  my  blanket  over  him  and  promised 
to  send  for  him.    I  knew  this  was  impossible, 

151 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

but  my  deception  might  help  him  to  die  in 
hope.  I  also  knew  the  terror  of  dying  there 
slowly,  and  alone,  all  alone.  But  he  was  be- 
yond our  help. 

The  German  guns  were  firing  violently  on 
the  French  positions.  We  did  not  realize  this 
during  the  day,  as  our  anguish  and  pain  kept 
us  from  studying  the  battle.  It  was  foolhardy 
to  go  forth  under  the  bombardment,  but  we 
were  really  crazed.  A  single  idea,  a  fixed  idea, 
remained  with  us  —  to  go  back,  to  go  back  by 
all  means,  or  die.  For  my  own  part,  I  was 
not  quite  conscious  of  what  I  was  doing. 

I  could  not  crawl  on  my  stomach.  I  was 
obliged  to  lie  on  my  back,  and  advance  head 
first  toward  the  French  trench.  The  rockets 
gave  me  a  glimpse  of  our  lines.  They  were 
several  hundred  yards  distant.  I  pushed  my- 
self along  with  my  feet  as  does  a  man  when 
swimming  on  his  back.  As  soon  as  a  rocket 
flashed  its  light,  I  remained  motionless,  feign- 
ing death  among  the  dead.  And  in  those  few 
instants  of  immobility,  I  could  hear  my  heart 
beat,  and  a  vague  horrible  murmur  made  up 
of  moans  and  cries  of  men  dying,  and  of 
wounded  calling  for  help.  I  passed  by  a  sol- 
152 


THE  ATTACK 

dier  who  was  groaning  feebly.  I  recognized 
him  and  tried  to  drag  him  with  me.  With 
great  difficulty  I  managed  to  pull  him  a  few 
feet.  And  then  I  saw  that  I  was  dragging  a 
corpse. 

This  Calvary  lasted  long,  frightfully  long. 
Several  times  I  bumped  my  head  into  dead 
bodies.  Crawling  backward  I  could  not  see 
these  obstacles.  At  one  moment,  I  found  my- 
self under  a  corpse.  The  body  was  in  a  kneel- 
ing position  and  leaning  forward.  I  had  its 
face  against  my  face,  and  its  open  eyes  seemed 
to  stare  at  me.  The  magnesium  light  of  a 
rocket  made  that  face  appear  still  more  livid. 
I  worked  myself  free  and  went  on  over  that 
rough,  chaotic  ground,  falling  into  shell  holes, 
jostling  the  dead.  But  my  whole  being  was 
strained  to  the  one  idea — to  go  back,  to  reach 
the  French  trench  to  which  I  was  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer.  I  began  talking  out  loud. 
Without  knowing  it,  I  must  have  talked  a  good 
deal.  I  found  myself  saying  over  half-forgot- 
ten snatches  of  Virgil:  — 

**Est  in  conspectu  Tenedos,  notissima  fama 
Insula,  dives  opum.  .  .  .'* 

It  was  indeed  ^'in  conspectu,"  that  trench, 
153 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

and  likewise  "dives  opum''  —  richer  than  any 
Island  of  the  Blest. 

Meanwhile  German  shells  kept  falling  in 
rapid  succession.  I  was  covered  with  earth 
several  times,  and  once  roughly  shaken  up. 
But  now  the  goal  was  very  near.  I  shouted 
with  all  my  might:  "France,  France,  I  am 
a  lieutenant  of  the  Eleventh  Company.''  I 
dimly  heard  voices  saying:  "This  way,  this 
way.''  I  directed  myself  by  those  voices. 
My  strength  was  almost  gone.  I  got  entangled 
in  wire  defenses.  My  arm  hurt  unbearably. 
A  shell  that  fell  near  stunned  me.  I  felt  my- 
self being  seized  and  pulled.  I  fell  into  the 
trench  —  the  French  trench.  Then  I  fainted. 


CHAPTER  XI 

EVACUATION  —  THE  SANITARY  TRAIN  —  THE 
HOSPITAL 

When  I  regained  consciousness  I  was  in  the 
dug-out  of  an  officer  of  the  machine-gun  sec- 
tion. He  gave  me  some  brandy,  and  I  revived. 
Ahnost  immediately  afterward  came  the 
Boche  counter-attack.  It  was  met  by  the  fire 
from  their  own  machine  guns,  and  was 
quickly  beaten  back.  With  my  left  hand  I 
unloaded  the  six  bullets  of  my  revolver  into 
the  dark  shadows  advancing  toward  us.  This 
much  I  could  do  for  my  soldiers. 

But  when  the  danger  was  over,  my  nerve 
suddenly  left  me,  and  I  was  frightened,  as 
frightened  as  a  child  in  the  dark.  I  was  afraid 
to  go  alone  to  the  dressing-station,  and  waited 
to  walk  along  with  the  stretcher-bearers.  We 
had  to  go  a  long  distance.  I  realized  that  we 
had  covered  a  good  deal  of  ground  in  the 
morning,  and  I  was  filled  with  hope.  Why 
should  not  our  men  do  the  same  thing  the  next 
day,  and  then  the  next,  until  we  could  raise 
our  heads  and  say:  '^Ours  the  victory!" 

iSS 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

When  the  surgeons  had  dressed  my  wound, 
I  was  placed  on  a  stretcher  and  lifted  into 
an  ambulance.  Then  began  the  journey  to 
the  rear. 

A  day  and  a  half  later,  after  a  chaotic  ride 
through  the  darkness,  I  reached  the  hospital 
of  the  beautiful  little  town  of  Arras,  where 
the  wounded  are  collected  from  the  various 
dressing-stations.  I  was  taken  into  a  vast 
ward  and  undressed  by  two  orderlies,  who 
cut  away  my  coat  and  jacket  and  put  me  to 
bed  between  clean  sheets.  In  spite  of  a  battery 
that  was  booming  right  beside  the  hospital, 
and  in  spite  of  the  pain  in  my  arm,  I  went 
to  sleep,  utterly  worn  out. 

The  next  morning  I  was  helped  into  my 
clothes  and  put  almost  immediately  into  an 
automobile  to  be  taken  toward  the  rear,  ever 
farther  and  farther  from  the  din  of  battle, 
which  was  still  going  on.  We  met  a  great  num- 
ber of  convoys  of  troops  on  their  way  to  rein- 
force the  front,  infantry  transported  in  heavy 
trucks,  as  we  had  been  ten  days  before,  artil- 
lery drawn  by  caterpillar  tractors,  and  masses 
of  cavalry  waiting  for  the  forward  dash. 
Truly,  everything  seemed  ready  for  pushing 
iS6 


EVACUATION 

far  ahead.  And  I  was  enraged  at  being 
wounded  at  such  a  moment,  for  the  thought 
of  our  advance  was  magnificent  and  inspiring. 

The  motor  came  to  a  stop  in  a  httle  village 
of  this  luxuriant  region  of  Artois.  The  hos- 
pital where  we  were  cared  for  momentarily  was 
in  the  schoolhouse.  I  was  given  a  hypodermic 
of  serum  to  prevent  tetanus.  The  schoolmis- 
tress, who  still  kept  a  single  room  for  her 
classes,  learning  that  I  belonged  to  the  Uni- 
versity, asked  me  to  go  home  to  lunch  with 
her.  She  was  exquisitely  kind  and  thoughtful, 
waiting  on  me,  preparing  my  food  and  helping 
me  to  eat.  Then  I  lay  down  on  her  bed.  I  was 
at  the  end  of  my  strength. 

Toward  evening  I  was  again  put  into  an 
automobile,  and  again  came  a  confused  ride 
over  torn-up  roads.  My  arm  was  very  pain- 
ful. I  felt  my  hand  swelling  and  growing 
heavy  and  feverish.  It  was  late  when  we 
reached  the  evacuation  hospital,  where  I  once 
more  went  to  bed.  I  found  there  one  of  my 
companions  in  misery,  an  adjutant  wounded, 
in  the  thigh.  The  next  morning  very  early  we 
were  awakened  by  violent  detonations.  It 
was  German  aeroplanes  throwing  bombs  on 

IS7 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

the  station  and  the  hospital.  One  of  them 
fell  very  near  the  building  where  we  poor 
wretches  were  lying.  Could  the  barbarians 
attack  even  us? 

In  that  immense  hospital  ward  was  every 
sort  of  horrible  wound.  No  part  of  the  body 
had  been  spared.  But  what  impressed  me 
most  was  an  officer  in  the  bed  next  to  mine, 
totally  disfigured  by  a  shell  —  a  repulsive 
monster,  ignoble,  with  neither  nose  nor  lips. 
I  saw  him  plainly  when  they  were  dressing 
his  wound.  And  it  hurt  me. 

At  noon  I  got  into  an  automobile  again, 
this  time  to  go  only  as  far  as  the  station, 
where  the  sanitary  train  was  waiting  for  us. 
There  were  two  kinds  of  coaches,  one  with 
comfortable  swinging  stretchers  for  wounded 
who  were  not  able  to  sit  up,  and  for  the  rest 
of  us  ordinary  first  and  second-class  coaches. 
I  was  in  a  first-class  compartment  with  a 
lieutenant  who  was  ill,  a  second  lieutenant 
wounded  in  the  hand,  and  a  colonel  who  had  a 
quantity  of  little  shell  splinters  in  his  leg.  I 
happened  to  be  the  worst  off  of  any  of  them, 
and  it  was  touching  the  way  they  all  tried  to 
do  some  little  thing  to  make  me  comfortable. 
158 


THE  SANITARY  TRAIN 

The  colonel  helped  me  get  settled,  cut  my 
meat,  almost  fed  me.  He  was  like  a  father,  and 
it  was  very  affecting  to  see  this  old  colonel, 
all  covered  with  medals,  waiting  upon  a  little 
lieutenant  who  was  scarcely  out  of  his  teens. 

At  the  big  stations,  Amiens  particularly, 
they  took  off  the  wounded  who  were  suffering 
most.  But  in  spite  of  the  pain  and  fever  in  my 
arm,  I  wanted  to  stay  on  the  train.  I  kept 
thinking  it  was  going  to  take  me  to  the  South, 
to  the  Riviera,  where  my  family  was  at  that 
moment. 

At  nightfall  we  arrived  just  outside  of 
Paris,  and  there  the  train  waited  until  morn- 
ing. It  was  the  same  station  where  we  had 
stopped  nearly  twenty  days  before,  on  return- 
ing from  the  Meuse.  In  the  morning  the  faith- 
ful ladies  of  the  Red  Cross  came  with  cheerful 
smiles  to  bring  us  cups  of  hot  coffee.  Then  the 
train  steamed  slowly  out.  We  met  some  Boche 
prisoners  who  were  also  being  evacuated.  Be 
it  said  to  the  honor  of  the  French  wounded,  no 
cry  against  the  barbarians  went  up  from  our 
train;  France  knows  the  respect  that  is  due  a 
vanquished  enemy. 

After  that  the  train  sauntered  along  all  day 

159 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

in  the  direction  of  the  Loire.  We  stopped  at 
many  stations  in  peaceful,  shaded  country- 
sides, and  at  each  of  these  havens  a  few  of  the 
wounded  got  out.  At  every  station  young  girls 
came  to  bring  us  flowers,  fresh  eggs,  illustrated 
papers,  and  likewise  their  smiles,  admiring,  a 
little  tender  too,  and  grateful.  I  was  especially 
touched  by  the  flowers.  They  brought  them 
by  armfuls  and  loaded  us  down.  We  suddenly 
began  to  have  a  glimmering  of  our  lofty  estate 
as  wounded.  The  attentions  of  those  exquisite 
women  made  us  almost  imagine  we  had  done 
something  worth  while.  But  this  did  not  lessen 
the  deep  gratitude  with  which  we  accepted 
their  gifts. 

The  debt  of  gratitude  that  I  vowed  from 
that  moment  to  the  women  of  France  has  been 
growing  daily  greater  since  I  have  been  in  this 
hospital.  I  reached  here  late  at  night.  At  the 
station  the  wounded  were  divided  among  the 
different  hospitals  of  the  town  and  I  was 
assigned  to  the  hospital  of  V  Union  des  Femmes 
de  France,  a  private  institution,  housed  in  the 
buildings  of  the  Girls'  Normal  School.  At  the 
entrance,  white  figures  stood  out  against  the 
dim  light.  When  I  went  in,  I  was  met  by 
i6o 


THE  HOSPITAL 

smiling  faces,  and  two  of  the  ladies  accom- 
panied me  to  my  room.  There  they  took  off 
my  clothes  and  gave  me  my  first  bath  in  many 
days,  doing  all  this  simply,  gently,  tenderly, 
laughing  at  me  a  little  if  I  was  embarrassed, 
as  can  well  be  imagined.  Could  anything  be 
more  wonderful  than  to  see  the  devotion  with 
which  these  delicately  reared  women  perform 
all  kinds  of  unpleasant  and  unwonted  tasks? 
And  always  with  the  same  cheerfulness,  the 
same  gentleness,  the  same  patience,  for 
wounded  soldiers  are  far  from  being  agreeable 
at  times.  If  there  is  any  virtue  in  the  soldiers 
of  France,  a  thousand  times  more  worth  are 
its  women,  whose  very  presence  and  smile 
brings  healing.  I  fell  under  the  charm  of  it  at 
once,  and  my  first  night  was  a  good  one.  But 
after  that,  fever  came  on.  The  violent  shocks 
I  had  been  through  brought  on  cerebral  con- 
gestion, and  I  knew  nothing  further  for  some 
days.  When  I  came  to  myself,  I  found  my 
mother  at  my  bedside.  She  had  been  with 
me  for  a  week,  though  I  had  not  known  her. 
After  that  my  arm  was  treated  to  more 
purpose.  It  was  necessary  to  operate  several 
times.  As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  be  out,  I  was 
i6i 


'DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

loaded  with  invitations.  All  my  nurses  asked 
me  to  their  homes,  likewise  the  doctor,  whom 
I  had  completely  won  over,  it  seems,  by  the 
very  learned  character  of  my  divagations 
when  I  was  off  my  head.  I  have  come  back  to 
a  life  of  perpetual  pampering,  sweet,  active, 
calm,  and  unspeakably  happy. 

My  arm  is  in  a  plaster  cast.  I  am  writing 
with  my  left  hand.  My  room  opens  out  on  a 
large  garden,  full  of  flowers  and  fragrance.  I 
have  got  back  to  my  books  again,  and  I  am 
growing  stronger.  To  be  alive  is  infinitely 
good. 

June  25.  This  morning  I  was  decorated  with 
the  Croix  de  Guerre,  For  several  days  back 
my  nurses  have  been  going  around  with  an 
air  of  mystery.  They  looked  at  me  and  whis- 
pered, and  for  all  answer  to  my  questions,  did 
nothing  but  smile.  They  had  become  perfectly 
inscrutable.  Even  the  doctor,  who  plied  me 
with  his  usual  volley  of  jokes,  refused  to 
enlighten  me.  Not  until  his  visit  of  this  morn- 
ing did  he  deign  to  inform  me  that  the  gen- 
eral in  charge  of  this  section  was  going  to 
take  the  trouble  to  bring  me  something. 
162 


THE   HOSPITAL 

In  the  courtyard  of  the  hospital,  with  its 
chestnut  trees  in  blossom,  and  its  decorations 
of  flags,  were  assembled  all  the  wounded  who 
were  able  to  be  about,  some  seated,  others 
lying  in  reclining-chairs.  The  ladies  in  charge 
of  the  hospital  and  all  the  nurses  in  their 
fresh  white  uniforms  were  laughing  and  talk- 
ing. I  was  talking  to  a  comrade  and  feeling 
not  a  little  embarrassed. 

Finally  the  General  arrived,  together  with 
several  staff  officers.  The  doctor  presented  the 
hospital  staff  to  him  and  then  he  presented  me. 
By  way  of  a  right  arm,  I  had  a  big  bundle 
of  plaster  and  bandages  which  prevented  me 
from  being  properly  clad  in  my  regimentals. 
The  General  unfolded  a  large  paper  and  read 
in  the  midst  of  complete  silence:  — 

"Second  Lieutenant  R.  N.,  the  Army  cites 
you  in  the  Order  of  the  Day  for  the  following 
reasons: — 

"Lieutenant  N.,  under  a  very  deadly  fire, 
led  forward  his  section  to  the  charge  upon  the 
German  positions.  With  great  gallantry,  he 
pushed  on  with  his  men  to  a  point  in  ad- 
vance of  the  third  German  line,  where  he  was 
wounded." 

163 


DIARY  OF  A  FRENCH  OFFICER 

And  the  General  came  toward  me  as  I  stood 
there  trembling  a  little,  and  pinned  to  my 
jacket  the  Croix  de  Guerre.  Then  he  took  my 
left  hand  and  pressed  it  silently.  I  felt  that 
everybody  was  looking  at  me.  I  was  very 
much  overcome.  I  must  have  looked  foolish. 

The  doctor,  a  sort  of  demi-god  whom  we  all 
adore,  began  to  say  something.  It  was  about 
me,  doubtless,  but  I  had  not  the  least  idea 
what.  I  longed  for  the  whole  thing  to  be  over. 
He  came  up  to  me  and  embraced  me. 

After  that  we  went  to  the  house  of  the 
directress  and  drank  champagne.  It  all  seemed 
endless,  and  my  one  wish  was  to  be  alone, 
quite  alone,  so  as  to  give  myself  up  to  the 
immense,  prodigious  joy  that  was  mine,  the 
joy  that  came  as  a  reward  for  doing  my  duty. 
How  can  I  endure  this  waiting  to  get  well?  I 
must  get  back  to  the  front.  I  will  prove 
to  my  country  that  not  in  vain  does  she  re- 
ward her  children. 

THE   END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .   S    .   A 


r~ 


"ik  02814 


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